Her home was like my Barbie’s penthouse with an hourglass pool that shimmered like Hollywood. She worked the room in her silver pant suit, suntanned skin, red fingernails, and sky high stilettos. It was late, but no one told me I had to go to bed or to stop eating so many of my favorite cookies. Then THEY arrived in a pack. They were older than me, maybe as old as my sissy and brothers. They had wild hair, were loud and smoked like her. They made loads of drinks and acted silly. One boy had a green Mohawk and made me a Shirley Temple; but winked and said it was a cocktail. I had died and gone to heaven. I was spending Christmas with my grandmum in Scottsdale. I was only 7-years-old. That night I knew I wouldn’t stay in Ohio forever. She redefined the word DIVA. She went to Beauty School when she turned FiTTy $ent. She is why you’ll often times see me with a beehive and why I swoon for hair stylists. Big bang thanks to Matthew and his Mohawk; courtesy of Disconnected Salon; the place to go when your hair needs a Morphine lollipop.
