Growing up with a working mom made every Monday morning memorable. After a weekend of jeans and laundry and sneakers and vacuuming, my Mom would start her daily workweek ritual of choosing her business clothes, putting on makeup in front of her mirror, doing her hair (I remember exactly what blowing out her bangs entailed) and picking her heels and matching purse. I would sit at the door of her room, waiting to see if she chose the blue suit with a white blouse, or the paisley skirt with pantyhose and a cardigan, or the black pumps with the red cotton dress. My favourite top of course was the embezzled blouse with large rhinestones across the neckline. I was mesmerized. My mom had the most beautiful strawberry blonde hair, which she would brush and wear loose, or blow out in the timely fashion of the early nineties. I would wait for the moment she passed by, her perfume wafting over me, remembering that she would smell as nice as she looked.
Because Everyone Deserves A Chance
