Here is a SAMPLE INTRODUCTION that includes the HOT structure and the stylistic devices:

As my sister and I carefully observed our four-year-olds at play in the homemade sandbox in her backyard last fall, it finally dawned on me why she looked so pristine — sandy blond hair pulled neatly into a French twist, dark lashes framing her perfectly outlined eyelids, ruby-filled lips coloring her freshly powdered face. Glancing in the puddle beside me to try to assess the reflection of my own visage, I softly sighed. It hadn’t even occurred to me to try to “make myself up” this morning. What mother-of-boys had the time? It had been all I could muster to get Finn out the door and into the car and get here late, if at all. I glanced back at the kids: Finn, with his unruly mop of hair and dirt-smeared face was careening through the box, sand flying in tidal waves either side of him, oblivious to the distress of those around him being pelted. Mary-Ruth, on the other hand, my sister’s child, sat beautifully in the corner — cascading golden curls and milky-white skin — her face only marred by a furrowed brow. She was as transfixed by this obnoxious performance as was her mother. Embarrassed, once again, because of my spawn, I buried my face in my hands. Yes, I know all mothers of toddlers are exhausted and overwhelmed, but mothers of girls cannot possible understand the depth of defeat to which we mothers of boys sink on a daily basis. Every mother does have it rough during these years, it’s true, but in terms of exacting discipline, of enforcing hygiene, and of ensuring education, mothers of boys enter the first circle of hell.