Closet Heads
I’m suffering from extreme writer’s block. Last night I started writing an anecdote about biscuits that’s going nowhere. I feel like these Styrofoam heads that inhabit my grandmother’s closet. Except I wear less makeup and always have hair.
The heads are older than me. I bet they’ve been a fixture in Bebe’s life for thirty years. Perched on her shelf, sitting on her dressing table, standing in her bathroom, their eyes are always open.
Sometimes, these heads hold wigs. But if these heads could talk…
