My Hair

When I woke up, I could feel it was going to be a bad day.
I looked in the mirror. My hair was standing up. It looked like a tree.
I screamed, “Mom, I look like a tree.”
She said, “That’s nice, dear. Please get ready for school.”
I yelled, “Mom, my hair is sticking up on my head.”
“That’s nice, dear. Please, put on your clothes.”
I could see waves all over my head. It looked like the ocean.
“Mom!”
“What!”
“I need help. My hair is a mess. I can’t go to school like this. All of my friends will laugh at me.”
“That’s nice, dear. Please, eat your toast.”
I walked down to the kitchen. Mom looked at me. “What is wrong with your hair?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it is a bad hair day.”
“I guess so,” said my mother.
Dad looked up from the paper and laughed. “Who cares if it is a bad hair day? You are both silly. Today is Saturday!”