A Story of Chores, Doughnuts, and Pixie Cuts
It started like most Saturday mornings in our house—with the clatter of cereal bowls, the hum of conversation, and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, the chores would disappear on their own.
We were halfway through breakfast when the front door swung open and in marched Grandma Cooper with purpose. Without so much as a hello, she announced, “Come on, Nancy and Judi, we got to get going.” And just like that, they were gone.
The room fell into silence. We all turned to Mom, wide-eyed, as if sheer confusion might compel her to explain what had just happened.
She simply walked out of the kitchen and, over her shoulder, said, “Joanne, Merialice, and Chere, you need to split up their chores between you. They won’t be back in time.”
Chores.
We all stared at each other, minds racing. Grandma picks you up on a Saturday and not only do you get out of chores, you vanish on some mysterious adventure? We didn’t know where they went, but we knew one thing for sure: whatever it was, it beat dusting and scrubbing.
Naturally, bickering followed. Joanne didn’t want to do dishes. Merialice wasn’t touching laundry. Then Mom’s voice rang out from the other room—firm and final. “That’s enough.”
And just like that, it was.
Joanne and Merialice locked eyes with Chere. No words, just a shared, silent decision. Chere sighed. “I’ll do them.”
So it was settled. My baby sister Chere ended up with three times the chores. And me? Well, I’d love to say I stepped in to help her out—but I didn’t. I figured Joanne and Merialice would get theirs someday. Mom had already said that was enough, and I wasn’t about to challenge her on it. But that’s a story for another time.
Around 3 o’clock that afternoon, the front door opened and in came Nancy and Judi—grinning, glowing, and practically bouncing with excitement. Grandma didn’t say a word; she just dropped them off and disappeared again.
We all swarmed around them. “Where did you go? What did you do?”
Judi launched into the tale with dramatic flair, and Nancy, of course, was right behind her correcting every other sentence.
It all started at Freddy’s Doughnuts. Not just a doughnut, mind you—two lemon Bismarcks each. That’s right. Two.
Then it was off to Diane’s Beauty Parlor, where the scent of hairspray hung in the air and women chatted under dryers while flipping through magazines. Nancy and Judi were wide-eyed with wonder, soaking in the buzz and glamour.
They got their hair washed (which apparently was the highlight of the entire day). According to them, it was magical—like tiny fairy hands massaging their scalps. I don’t recall Mom’s shampoo routine ever being described quite so poetically.
After that came the styling. A New Pixie, they said. To me, it looked suspiciously like a fancy version of the same crew cut I’d been getting for years. But hey, call it a Pixie, slap a higher price on it, and suddenly it’s fashion.
They were glowing. Not just because of the lemon Bismarcks or the shampoo fairy hands, but because Grandma Cooper had swept them into a world that felt big and bright and just a little bit grown-up.
The rest of us watched with a mixture of awe and envy. You could see it in Joanne, Merialice, and Chere’s faces—they would’ve gladly taken on all the chores for a day like that.
And who knows? Maybe one Saturday, they would.
But for now, we had laundry to fold and dishes to do… and two very smug sisters with freshly styled Pixies and sugar-coated smiles.
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