The water strains through your hair,
Little droplets flung into the air as you turn.
Your smile at me,
The slight exasperation from your lips.
“Do I have to?” You ask.
“Of course,” I clap.
The brush hits your hair,
A knot makes you grimace.
Your hair slowly puffs,
You finish and present.
“Like an angel made for me.”
You huff your irritation,
Your head a puffy fluff of hair.
Yet,
One look at my simple smile,
And you plan to say yes if I ask again.