When I was little I had bright red hair. Bright red. And I had a lovely little cowlick right smack dab on my bang line. Red hair and a bang cowlick? Cute, I tell you. Cute indeed [sarcasm intended]. To make matter worse, I had three older sisters who had mastered the skills of a curling iron and a bottle of hairspray. So of course I had to keep up.
I would try to curl my hair everyday for school. Emphasis on "try". You see, the hot rod inches from my skin scared the crap out of me. I could curl the sides of my hair just fine because I could see what I was doing. But the hot rod and little arms didn't mix for the back of my hair. This equated to the left and right sides of my hair being curled and the back...well let's just say it looked pretty stupid.
That is, until Kimmy took pity on me. I remember the fist day she curled my hair in a long time. I got on the bus and the bus driver said, "Wow, all of your hair is curled! You should do it more often!" From then on, I always begged and pleaded with Kim to curl my hair. I am sure it annoyed the crap out of her, but she did it anyways. So I appointed her with the title of my lifelong hairdresser.
To be honest, I appointed her with a lot more titles than just "hairdresser" throughout the years. She's been my chauffeur. She's been my cook. She's been my maid. She's been my roommate. My TV-viewing partner. My second mom. My wedding planner. My counselor. My college planner. My secretary. My vacation coordinator. My financial backer. My secret keeper. My shopping partner. My role model.
Best of all? She's been my sister.
Happy Birthday Kimmy. Thanks for...you know...everything.
