“For the last time, Mama, I’m not a hair dresser. I’m a stylist!”

“Stylist? Don’t go puttin’ on airs, Daughter Mine. You’re a hair dresser. Just like your no good Meemaw was.”

Tara felt hot tears running down her face.

“Meemaw was not no good, Mama.” She said in a low voice, eyes averted. “You are.”

Happy Reading!

~ Eileen 🙂