Haircuts of the Damned
Today on the bus a woman nearby was talking to her companion, bemoaning the fact that her son had called to inform her that her daughter had cut her own hair. "I can't even begin to imagine what it looks like," she wailed.
I can.
When I was in Grade 3, I accidentally got gum in my hair. In my bangs. For the life of me, I cannot remember what activity I might have possibly been undertaking that resulted in gum passing by my forehead area, but that is really neither here nor there. What mattered was that I had gum in my hair, and I couldn't just leave it there... because today was Picture Day. Mom had spent a fair amount of time getting me washed and dressed in a cute little suit, clip-on tie neatly in place, shirt ironed, and I went and got gum in my hair. Clearly, I had to get it out before the pictures were taken.
So, Saftey Scissors in hand, I stood on a small stool in the boys' bathroom, peering into the mirror, and carefully cut it out. I remember how annoyed I was at the scissors, because they were hardly good for cutting hair at all. At long last, I had the offending matter out of my hair, and when I combed my hair I remember being quite pleased at my handiwork: you couldn't tell that I had cut my own bangs at all!
When I got home, I remember thinking Mom was some kind of eagled-eyed super sleuth, because she somehow noticed my self-haircut right away. She sure was upset.
When the pictures came in, she ordered extra sets.
I can.
When I was in Grade 3, I accidentally got gum in my hair. In my bangs. For the life of me, I cannot remember what activity I might have possibly been undertaking that resulted in gum passing by my forehead area, but that is really neither here nor there. What mattered was that I had gum in my hair, and I couldn't just leave it there... because today was Picture Day. Mom had spent a fair amount of time getting me washed and dressed in a cute little suit, clip-on tie neatly in place, shirt ironed, and I went and got gum in my hair. Clearly, I had to get it out before the pictures were taken.
So, Saftey Scissors in hand, I stood on a small stool in the boys' bathroom, peering into the mirror, and carefully cut it out. I remember how annoyed I was at the scissors, because they were hardly good for cutting hair at all. At long last, I had the offending matter out of my hair, and when I combed my hair I remember being quite pleased at my handiwork: you couldn't tell that I had cut my own bangs at all!
When I got home, I remember thinking Mom was some kind of eagled-eyed super sleuth, because she somehow noticed my self-haircut right away. She sure was upset.
When the pictures came in, she ordered extra sets.