Матильда

           "Imostcertainlyhavenotdyedit!Whatd’youmeanI’vedyedit?What’shappenedtoit?Oristhissomesortofastupidjoke?"Hisfacewasturningpalegreen,thecolourofsourapples.

           "Youmusthavedyedit,dad,"thesonsaid."It’sthesamecolourasmum’sonlymuchdirtierlooking."

           "Ofcoursehe’sdyedit!"themothercried."Itcan’tchangecolourallbyitself!Whatonearthwereyoutryingtodo,makeyourselflookhandsomeorsomething?Youlooklikesomeone’sgrandmothergonewrong!"

           "Getmeamirror!"thefatheryelled."Don’tjuststandthereshriekingatme!Getmeamirror!"

           Themother’shandbaglayonachairattheotherendofthetable.Sheopenedthebagandgotoutapowdercompactthathadasmallroundmirrorontheinsideofthelid.Sheopenedthecompactandhandedittoherhusband.Hegrabbeditandhelditbeforehisfaceandindoingsospilledmostofthepowderalloverthefrontofhisfancytweedjacket.

           "Becareful!"shriekedthemother."Nowlookwhatyou’vedone!That’smybestElizabethArdenfacepowder!"

           "Ohmygawd!"yelledthefather,staringintothelittlemirror."What’shappenedtome!Ilookterrible!Ilookjustlikeyougonewrong!Ican’tgodowntothegarageandsellcarslikethis!Howdidithappen?"Hestaredroundtheroom,firstatthemother,thenattheson,thenatMatilda."Howcouldithavehappened?"heyelled.

           "Iimagine,daddy,"Matildasaidquietly,"thatyouweren’tlookingveryhardandyousimplytookmummy’sbottleofhairstuffofftheshelfinsteadofyourown."