WA 10, Draft 2: Two Different Teenage Girls

The definition of cliché is an overused stereotype. Take for instance, what people think of teenage girls. The diary of a teenage girl might look something like this…

Dear Diary,
Today was a nearly disaster. It was nothing extraordinary but it almost ruined my life. It started off as an ordinary Saturday morning: I woke up late, got dressed, brushed my hair, and headed downstairs for breakfast. When I got to the kitchen the smell of bacon and pancakes frying, that I thought I was imagining, was sitting in front of my place at the table. Well this was unusual, usual I just pour myself some cereal and eat a yogurt. As if on cue my mother looked up from her newspaper.

“Good morning sweetheart. How did you sleep? I was wondering if you might be up for a trip to the mall to get your hair cut?”
“Oh, that explains the breakfast.”
“No, no, I just had some time this morning and thought I would fix a nice meal.”
At that, I just whispered under my breath, “About time.”

I tried to process all of this at once; my mom wanted to take me to get a hair cut at THE MALL. Wait; at the mall I might actually see people. I didn’t know if it was such a good idea.

“Come on, it will be fun. We can do a little shopping afterward and get some ice cream.”
“I don’t know…”
“What about those shoes that you’ve been eyeing for the best month?”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be that bad.”
“Great, then it’s a date. Let me go get my purse and we can hit the road.”

As we headed out the drive way she put on the dreaded oldies. I tried to tolerate it but once she started singing along I had to stop her.

“Mom, that’s really annoying.”
“What? I can’t hear you over the music.”
“Moommm, turn it off!”
“Well fine, but you just burst my bubble.” (Can you believe she said that?)

We finally got there, and found a parking space right in front (which made my mother very happy). We got out of the car and as we were crossing the street she tried to hold my hand, eww. I started having second thoughts, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, I mean, I have friends that go to the mall on Saturday. Well, we were there, too late. My mom pushed me up to the desk.

“What’s your name miss?”
“Uhh, Jenny.”
“Okay Jenny, we’ll call your name in a few minutes.”

We sat down and immediately I pick up the trashiest magazine in sight (I am a teenager). Of course my mom looks over takes the magazine right out of my hand and replaces it with a magazine about news in the world.

“Mother! Why do I want to know a bunch of crap about the world?”
“Jenny! Watch your language. And it’s not nonsense. It will benefit that brain of yours.”
“Ughh. Geez this taking a long time, will they ever call me name?”

“Jenny?”
“Right here.”
“Come this way.”
“Bye mom.”
“Oh no, I’m coming with you let me just get my purse and put my floss away and… now I’m ready to go.”

Well that was a mistake, she never should have come back there, I knew it was going to be trouble. I don’t know why I even agreed to that, oh yeah, the shoes. So, she shampooed and washed my hair (my mom got the deluxe deal) and then sat me down in the swivel chair.

“What would you like today?”
“Well, I was thinking maybe a few inches shorter and make it so that I don’t have bangs anymore.”
“Wait wait wait Jenny. I don’t think that’s what you want.” (Right on the beat). “I was thinking more of a bobby with bangs so that it makes your face look more round.”
“I don’t think so, it’s my hair.”
“Yes darling but remember, the shoes?”
“So what will it be?” the hair dresser asked. “How about a compromise? I like your mom’s idea about a bobby but I think getting rid of your bangs will bring a more mature look to your face.”
“That sounds great!”
“I’m still not so sure about getting rid of the bangs.” (Does she ever let me do things my own way?)
“Mom just let her try it; I think she knows what she is doing.”“Okay but if we don’t like I want our money back.”

The hair stylist cut and cut until I thought I wasn’t going to have any hair left. I really didn’t want to look in the mirror because I was afraid I was part bald. She finished with a blow dry and then handed me a mirror.

“Actually, I don’t want to look. If it’s embarrassing I don’t want to know. I’ll just pretend like my hair has been like this forever.”
“Well, okay. I’ve never had a customer not look at herself in the mirror.”
“My guess is I’ll not only be the first but also the last.”
“It’s $40, ma'am.”

My mother almost flew out of her chair when she heard how much it was but, once I turned around my mother started smiling. Oh no, not good. Mother smiling = disaster. As we left the parlor part of me wanted to shrink behind my mother like a little girl and the other part of me wanted to pretend like nothing was new. And who appeared as we walked out the door? My friends from school. They stood for a few moments (I guess they were taking in how ugly I could be and trying to find nice words.)

“Jenny, your hair cut is amazing.”
“Yeah, it really brings attention to your eyes.”
“I can’t believe it, it looks so good on you.”
“Ummm, thanks? I’ll cya later!”

I did a double take. Did they really like my hair cut or was it because I was standing with my mom and they thought they had to say something nice? Oh well. Whatever it looks like I’m just glad I get the shoes.

“So Mom can we go get the shoes?”
“Well I actually already have them at home and was just waiting for the perfect time to give them to you.”
“You mean I came all the way here and we have the shoes at home?”
“Your hair cut looks very nice dear, how about we get an ice cream on the way home?” (Way to change the subject, mom)
“Whatever.”

We got in the car and I decided to finally see for myself what it looked like. As I pulled down the visor I was surprised to see a beautiful head of hair (cut a tad bit short). It was awesome, the best haircut I’ve ever had, but I was still mad. She shouldn’t have bribed me and I’m not going to let her decide for me anymore what she wants me to look like.

The thing is teenage girls act like this for a reason. They read these books and magazines that set a stereotype for them that they feel they have to fill. It’s hard being a teenage girl, take it from me. Everybody has different views, ways of living, and looking at life. Jenny’s is just different from mine.