My mother had advice about everything; she was better than a Magic 8 Ball.

She taught me how to curl my hair based on the look I want: for beachy waves, use low heat and curl large strands of hair away from face; for a loose curl divide hair into two layers with the top strands curling away from the face and bottom strands curling towards the face; for maximum volume use high heat on small strands.

She taught me to call boys small and pathetic and to kick them in the shins with the bottom of my foot (because shin bones are very hard and if I use my toes, I could break them) if they ever hurt me or any of my friends.

She taught me that it’s best to sort laundry by colors because they can bleed and scar like people, like I did when I fell off my bike. She taught me to spray my ant bites with Windex to take the sting out of them. She taught me I can’t take boxing lessons because girls don’t look good with broken noses. She taught me it’s not ladylike to talk loudly or too much. She taught me how to wash my face to correct my skin. She taught me how to diet when I started to gain weight. She taught me that I would be judged for dating a black man. I keep a tally of every piece of advice. It stretches from my wrists to my thighs.