The Grey Hairpin

© Linda Albert Whenever my grandmother came to visit, I was obligated to share my bedroom with her. I can still picture her relieving her pendulous breasts from the confines of her corset, then removing the pins from the bun in her snow-white hair. But though peeking at granny while pretending to be asleep provided some...

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The Grey Hair Pin

Whenever my grandmother came to visit, I was obligated to share my bedroom with her. I can still picture her relieving her pendulous breasts from the confines of her corset, then removing the pins from the bun in her snow-white hair. But though peeking at granny while pretending to be asleep provided some satisfaction for my youthful curiosity, it did not compensate for what to me was a painful loss of privacy. There were always a few of Granny's gray hairpins left scattered on my dresser after she left, reminders of the sacrifice I was forced to endure.

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