“Eat your crusts or your hair won’t curl”, my mother used to say.
Mum brushed my long blond hair into ringlets every Sunday night. It was her gentle way of brushing those knots out without causing me to squeal in pain however it was only a temporary relief. That curly hair kept on tangling, sticking out at right angles to my head, coiling in masses of knots and frizziness.
I determined never to eat bread crusts again. Why would I want curly hair? For many years I stuck to my self imposed regime. No more bread for me.
I would look longingly at my school friends as they munched through thick soft bread sandwiches each lunchtime as I crunched through carrots and apples instead.
But then I discovered hair straighteners. Suddenly it didn’t matter that eating those bread crusts could make my hair a tangled mess. At last, I had found the solution to my thick unruly curls.
I grabbed a slice of bread and delighted in spreading a thick smear of yellowy butter. I popped the first bite into my mouth and closed my eyes in sheer bliss. Bread and butter had never tasted so good.
This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, July Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’