Writing warm up. Story with 3 disconnected nouns.
I woke up in the morning to the sound of my horrible alarm clock beeping in my left ear. I didn’t hear my mother yelling at me to get my lazy butt out of bed and to turn off the damn alarm clock, so I concluded that that must mean it is a Tuesday, and she is at work. My mother only works on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I knew it wasn’t Friday yet. I never set my alarm on Thursday night because I always have a spare during first period on Fridays. Friday mornings are one of my mornings to sleep in.
The alarm clock was still beating in my ear. I groaned and slowly made my way out of bed. I slapped the OFF button on my alarm clock. I dragged myself to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I saw a hideous beast looking back at me. “Ugh,” I muttered to myself at the sight of my reflection. My hair was sticking up, clearly having a mind of its own. I ran my fingers through it then dragged a comb through it. There was no improvement. I decided that my hair needed a wash and so did I.
After taking a long, hot, heavenly shower and after treating my long blonde hair to a luxurious shampooing and conditioning, I got dressed in a cute outfit and went down to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. I made myself bacon, eggs and toast. I took my sweet time eating my breakfast, savouring each bite. My mother wasn’t around to nag me to “hurry up” or I’ll “be late for school”, so I was happy.
When I finished my breakfast, I picked up my pate and set it in the sink. I noticed to the left of the sink that I had left my spiral notepad on the counter. I glanced at the open page, where I had scribbled hearts all over it and wrote “Holly Loves Oliver Landon.”
As soon as I saw his name, I gasped. It was Tuesday! It was the day that Oliver Landon, the lead singer of my favourite band, was coming to my school and his band was going to perform at our “Save the Whales” charity gig!
For many years, one of my lifelong dreams was to meet Oliver Landon. It was finally the day where I would make that dream come true. And I was looking like a mess! Sure, I had showered and put on a cute outfit but still wasn’t presentable enough to be meeting Oliver Landon for the first time. It was true that my hair was now clean and staying down in one direction, but it still didn’t look good enough. Then it hit me - I will curl it! Long, curly hair always looks pretty and admirable.
I glanced at the microwave which read that it was 8:07 am. I didn’t care if I was late to first period class. It was only French class and Madam DuBois loved me anyways. I was her best student. I told myself that I would take my time curling my hair so it would look just right. On a day where my dream was at bet, being tardy for first period class was acceptable.
I let my curling iron heat up for five minutes then proceeded to curl my hair. I took one thin piece at the front and wrapped it tightly around the iron. I glanced at the mirror that stood above my dresser. I sighed. My make-up had to be fixed too. I released the hair that was wrapped around the iron and unfolded a beautiful, perfect curl. I smiled at my instant success. I wondered if the rest of my hair would turn out this great.
Acting foolish, I took a longer, wider piece of hair and tightly wrapped it around my curling iron. I looked up at Oliver Landon posters I had on my walls. I had five of them, but I wanted more. I wondered if that music store downtown would have any new ones for sale. Snapping back to present reality, I tried to unfurl my hair from the iron. My hair wouldn’t come off. I tried again. And again. I tried again, and pulled my hair too hard. I pulled at it, yanking repetitively, then realized that my hair was stuck.
“You have got to be KIDING ME!” I exclaimed in frustration. Who gets there hair stuck to a curling iron?!? I tried a few more times to get my hair off the iron, but it wouldn’t. The harder I yanked, the more pain I brought to myself and the more frizzier my hair became.
Just then the telephone yang from somewhere in the living room. “WHO CALLS AT…” I glanced at the clock, “8:20 IN THE MORNING?” I sprang from my bed with the curling iron still stuck in my hair and charged angrily out of my room. As I approached the stairs, I accidentally let go of my grip of the iron handle, and the hot iron touched my neck.
“AAAAAH!” I screamed, in instant, stinging pain. The phone was still ringing. Now, I’m not usually the clumsy type of person, but as soon as I took the first step down the stairs, I lost all balance and concentration and I tripped. Over my own two feet. DOWN THE STAIRS. WITH A HOT CURLING IRON STUCK IN MY HAIR AND PINCHING MY SKIN EVERY OTHER SECOND.
Once that agonizing ten second trip down the stairs had ended, I was lying at the bottom of the stairs, my muscles aching, bruises were definitely forming, my hair was a disaster, and the curling iron was now out of my hair, sitting beside me on the floor. Oh yes, and the phone was still ringing.
That was the moment I began to laugh hysterically, only so I wouldn’t cry.
Why me?
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