My Own Mother was wild as the Indians!

Another humorous story to be told...my sister and I spent one week every summer with our wealthy city cousins. That's where we learned to ride 'their' bikes, and where we were 'privileged' to ride in those rumble-seats of those Model-T Fords that their dad, our uncle, renovated for his hobby.  And, where we ate pretty darn well, too, I might add.  When our aunt went to the store she bought what her children wanted.  None of that; maybe there will be enough grocery money for that next week, kind of stuff.
So, sadly, it was time for our mom to come and pick us up from our week long, city-time fun.  We didn't want to leave.  Oh!... how we didn't want to leave !  Life was like heaven there.  Ice cream trucks every night came right to your door!   Street lights shined all night long....no silent, still darkness of nothingness, not at all like in the country.    (Another phobia of mine...fear of the darkness.)
We have so much fun sharing toys, and especially bikes, with our city cousins.  They were the cousins that always got  toys from grandma and grandpa.  We had to get pj's or socks and underwear, or gloves and hats.  Always the stuff we so needed that winter and didn't have already.  They got the toys...pretty darn nifty toys too.  I always calculated in my mind that those toys must have cost way more than our socks and underwear did.  But, what did I know?  I was just a kid and knew nothing of the high price that Sears put on their all cotton under garments.
 I had never heard of the country mouse and the city mouse...but we were the country mice,for sure.  But, now for the Indian part of my story.  You see, my sister and I had long hair...really long hair.  Mom hated to wash and comb and braid our long hair.  We were even in a contest once, where the longest braids won something, (I don't remember what.) if theirs were the longest braids in our city contest.  We even got our pictures posted in the newspaper and the length of our braids were noted.  Some stupid girl that hadn't cut her hair all her life won.  She was probably a pentecostal kid.  Which, by-the-way, my dad's mother was one,and didn't want our dad to get our hair cut---ever!---either.
Anyhow, that certain aunt was a beautician.  She loved playing with our long hair...so she said.  She told us she wanted us to look very nice and groomed for when our mom came to pick us up.  We nearly cried that that was the last day there with that rich family.  But, at the least, we were going to enjoy a final meal together.  Not knowing it would be our hairs' final meal, too!
So, we all sat down to eat.  Mom had arrived to take us home.  The mothers absolutely insisted that the boys sit in the back at the wall on the bench, and the girls were to sit on the outside of the table, in the chairs.   No big deal,right?  We had steaming hot, hot dogs, root beers, and potato chips in front of us...and all was good!
Next thing we knew!  We heard those deafening, awful sounds of scissors cutting, and felt the awful tug of our long braids, as simultaneously, our mom 'and' our aunt sniped-off all four braids --- to the very nap or our necks!!!  We were in shook!  Both of us lost our appetites in and instant!  We immediately ran to find a mirror, of  course!   Into two of the bedrooms we flew.  To our horror, our chopped hair was flopping around our ears!
Mom and my aunt laughed heartily at their sneaky, horrific plan going so well, as they watched us flee our last meal in terror.  I'll never forget the sound of those scissors.  I'll never forget their callous laughs.  But mostly, I'll never forget how my own mother got such pleasure out of offending my grandmother and my dad...by scalping us.  And she didn't even drink alcohol!!!
We kept our braids in a small paper bag, way up high in our closet...almost like a dead loved one in an urn.  Every once in  awhile we'd take them down and just hold them, remembering how it was to have beautiful long hair for which our father told us we were so beautiful.  Never again did either or us have such long flowing locks.  And I won't even go there...where mom, dad, and grandma had it out over our short hair.
So, another memory...but not at the expense of any grievances for my dad...see