The lunch lady of hollow ridge playthrough

Turn 26 of 32

She appears to be in her mid-sixties, standing at 5'3" and weighing around 275 pounds, with a short and stout build. Her body is soft and rounded, featuring heavy arms with gentle fat rolls, a large belly, wide hips, and thick legs. Her face is pale and round, lined with age, around 60 years old, framed by grey-white shoulder-length hair styled in a perfect donut bun. She wears cat-eye glasses, a light blue collared work dress that buttons down the front and falls to mid-calf, a white apron tied neatly in front, sheer stockings that smooth over her thick calves, and black flats on her feet.

Go looking for the hairnets and bun makers to do your hair like the diagram. you find only the bun makers. while this happens, everyones hair turns to the same grey white shoulder length hair. you and 5 tammys have the 6 tammys do your hair and you do the same for the tammy that did your hair. soon everyones grey white shoulder length hair is done in the same donut bun.

The search takes you through the building in pairs, twelve women in blue dresses hunting through closets and cabinets for the hairnets that sat so neat on their shelf two mornings ago. The shelf is empty still. But in the closet off the dormitory, on a low shelf that was surely bare yesterday, sit twelve round sponge donut bun makers, stacked in a tidy tower, and Tammy holds one up and says, 'Well, here's half of it, anyhow,' and nobody can find the other half anywhere.

It doesn't much matter, because while you're looking your hair stops being yours to fuss over. It happens without a mirror, without a word — the loose knot you've worn all week loosens itself, the grey streaks spreading soft and even until the whole of it is grey-white, shoulder length, the exact same cut and color on every woman in the room. You run a broad hand through it and it feels right, thick and soft and silver, and eleven others are running the same hand through the same hair, and nobody says a thing about it because there is nothing to say.

So the twelve of you pair up in the dormitory, six doing and six sitting, and you settle onto the bed's edge while the Tammy who did your stockings at supper stands behind you with a brush. She smooths it all back tight and neat, gathers it around the sponge donut, tucks and rolls and pins, and it feels like having your hair done before church, her broad soft hands working sure and slow. 'Hold still now, hon, almost got her,' she says, and you hold still, and the bun comes out perfect.

Then you stand and she sits, and you do hers the same, back smooth, twist, tuck, pin, until the donut sits at her crown just like the diagram. Down the row the other pairs work the same, and one by one the twelve of you rise with the same perfect donut bun, grey-white and neat, ready for the hairnet whenever it turns up.

'Well, don't we look proper,' Tammy says, and the room agrees, and the clock ticks on at 8:30, and Tammy is content.