Today's ordinary thing brings to mind my mother, her dresser drawers ajumble with combs and clip-on earrings and this thin twangy little item, for which I never thought to have use of as a child.

Here's the tiniest memoir excerpt ever, featuring the hairpin, also known as the bobby pin...
“We could dress you up,” says Mother. “You could go as a gypsy.” We go to the mirror. Mother puts bobby pins on the sink. Long and straight at the corner end, squiggly near the other end. The tips have bouncy stuff. You want to chew them.

“This can be your turban.” Mother puts the navy scarf in a triangle. It goes over the top of my head. The scarf points down in back. She ties. Mother picks up my hair and pulls it through the open part. “Here,” says Mother. The bobby pins slide past my ears. Smooth, because of the bouncy stuff. Mother's arms go around. There’s her cocoa butter smell. There’s her patting hands.
Write about hairpin turns, or hairpin do's, or tell the never-before heard tale of how Bobby invented the pin, and what she did with it.

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