"Wide Tooth Comb"

Maggie sternly looked at the big teeth comb, which reminded her of the teeth she saw on the dinosaur show today. Those teeth were the ones responsible for the headache she was about to endure. If Momma didn’t have that comb, then she wouldn’t have to get her thick hair combed, and those teeth wouldn’t have to bite at her head. All this because she was what momma called tender-headed.
Maggie firmly grasped the culprit and sneaked into daddy’s office. There must’ve been a million places where she could hide it and without anyone ever finding out. Knowing she was not supposed to be in there made her head dart back and forth. No one was looking, but she could easily get caught. The big desk drawer would not work. That is where her daddy kept his important papers. The file cabinet was too tall to reach unless she climbed in a chair, and Maggie just knew she would break her legs if she fell. That thought alone made her want to change her mind about the whole thing, but she didn’t. She had already come too far.
Suddenly, like shiny gold to her, she saw an old dusty bin. It was marked with one of those funny triangles usually seen on the big, noisy orange trucks that wake her up Mondays and Wednesday mornings. She also remembered seeing that sign on the green bins at the grocery store. Maggie peeked in and there was lots of paper inside. If she could put the comb under the paper far enough, the deed would be done. Maggie stuck the comb in the bin and piled the papers on top and around it. Looking both ways like she was crossing the street, Maggie peered into the hall, ran back to her room, and shut the door while breathing heavily. The monster had been defeated.
Maggie had gotten rid of the comb, but something just didn’t feel right. She had a nagging feeling coming from way down deep from within; Momma said that on the phone to Auntie Della all the time. Although she would look just fine, Maggie could always tell something was wrong. Suddenly, Maggie heard Momma making her way down the hall. She could hear those flippity-floppity shoes from a mile away.
“Maggie!” Momma called like she was looking for her. “It’s time to get your hair combed.”
What Momma really gonna be looking for is that comb…Maggie went ahead and opened the door; ready to be defeated once again. Before she could get the door all the way opened, she was greeted by Momma.
“Maggie, have you seen the comb?”
Maggie, with her head tilted slightly downward, not wanting to meet her Momma’s gaze, said, “Yes, Momma.” Maggie then trudged slowly down the hall, into her daddy’s office, and to the big bin.
“What in the world?” Momma sounded surprised.
Struggling a bit, Maggie opened the bin and pulled out the wide tooth comb as Momma looked on with her hands on her hips. “I ain’t gonna ask you no questions this time,” Momma scolded, “but this better not happen again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said feeling like she could breathe again. She knew she would have to get her hair combed again, and for once, it might not be so bad after all.

THE END.