Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks

I sat at the kitchen table quietly munching my cereal, “Charlotte dear,” My mom said, “I’m going to work okay? Have a good day at school!” She leaned over to kiss my cheek. My mom and I were close but I still stared at her naturally dark skin enviously that I definetly lacked. We had the same hair, yet she seemed to always be able to manage hers, cutting it into a short yet fashionable style and hers even being wavy instead of the extreme curls of mine, “See ya’ Mom!” I still cried happily.

She opened the front door and left, taking the cheerful atmosphere with her.

Then down came my father. My father was actually also quite handsome as well, brunette hair that seemed to always look windswept back (being a motorcyclist probably helped that out) with some grey beginning to show, with the baby blue eyes I have.

Only his were always filled with irritableness. The blue he had was the cold kind of blue that merely by looking you felt a shudder go down your spine, “Pass the cereal accident.”

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