Very Junior Miss

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At Sunday breakfast Kilty Morrow became aware of the look of baffled disapproval on her mother’s face. She sighed heavily and said, “What is it, Mother?”

“Your hair, child,” Laura said.

“Here we go again,” Walter Morrow muttered without looking up from the paper.

“Mother, my hair is as clean as can be,” Kilty said.

“Kilty, you’re going to be sixteen in three weeks, and look at you! You don’t have any pride. You’re a nice-looking girl, and for all you care...”

“How about Friday night, Mother? How about that?”

“Now don’t start using that argumentative tone of voice with me, young lady. Friday night you looked lovely for about half an hour. It took me two full hours to coerce you into that condition. In two minutes you got a smudged face and a torn dress. When I was your age...”

Walter sighed so deeply that Laura turned and stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“For one moment, my dear, it sounded like a phrase I’d heard before.”

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