RUNNING WITH SCISSORS
A MEMOIR
Chapter One
SOMETHING ISN'T RIGHT
My mother is standing in front of the bathroom mirror
smelling polished and ready; like Jean Nate, Dippity Do
and the waxy sweetness of lipstick. Her white, handgun-shaped
blow-dryer is lying on top of the wicker clothes hamper,
ticking as it cools. She stands back and smoothes her
hands down the front of her swirling, psychedelic Pucci dress,
biting the inside of her cheek.
"Damn it," she says, "something isn't right."
Yesterday she went to the fancy Chopping Block salon in
Amherst with its bubble skylights and ficus trees in chrome
planters. Sebastian gave her a shag.
"That hateful Jane Fonda," she says, fluffing her dark brown
hair at the crown. "She makes it look so easy." She pinches
her sideburns into points that accentuate her cheekbones.
People have always said she looks like a young Lauren Ba ... read full excerpt from Running with Scissors ebook
