Every morning, she sat on a little stool in front of her mirror while I carefully worked through the curls.
If I accidentally pulled one, she would gasp dramatically.
« Mommy! »
« Sorry, princess. »
Even getting the ends trimmed required a serious conversation beforehand because she was terrified someone would cut too much.
Before every salon visit, she would hold up two fingers.
« Only this much, Mommy. »
« Only that much, » I would promise.
« I want it to touch the floor like Rapunzel’s, » she would tell me while brushing it in front of the mirror.
I always laughed.
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