Toot my own horn. Hmmm, I mumble as I think. What is my favorite thing about myself? One day I hate it but then when I wake up the next, I can’t stop staring in the mirror at the amazing beauty of it. I am always drawn in by my hair. I can never stop playing with the softness that my fingers have no problem flowing through. But as I continue to stare away at it in my mirror, wonder why the single piece is floating above, I wonder what I will do with it for the day. I hold it up with my hands above my head. I gaze at all pieces of it, hanging in their own direction. They seem to know what to do, where as I have no idea. I reach over to my dresser for my perfect hair tie and crumple my hair into a big pile of mush behind my head. I look at my face from side to side. I pull a few pieces of what I still believe are my bangs away from my face, trying to make my hair perfect. But as I continue to judge myself, debate whether this is the correct way to wear all wear my hair, I come realize it is not. I pull it out with and grab my brush with frustration. I must now try to fix the mess I had thought I had made flawless. Will this pile on my head never be correct? I never think it will. I now run my brush over and over through every strand, piece by piece; pulling them all into what I know will be their accurate spots. I watch myself in my mirror to make sure I am doing this all in a very careful way. Once I am finished, I look over what I have just spent what I feel like forever working on. My eyes widen in amazement as I gaze at the beauty upon my head. I have finally accomplished it. My hair; she is perfect.