Sunday, September 2, 2012

The Scissor Incident

I wanted to grow out A's hair.  He has bright grey eyes with a hint of blue, they look like the ocean after a storm.  That with his blond hair and his new tan made him look perfect for the shaggy surfer hairstyle.

Well, it didn't work.  He ended up looking like he had a mullet.  So I decided to cut it.

I am no good with boys hair.  I have been trying and trying, and A and R have been good sports about being my guinea pigs, but I still don't have the whole "blending" thing down.  I can't do longer on top and shorter in the back without that distinct "bowl cut" line, even if the two lengths are only one stop away from each other on the buzzer.

This is why I decided to use scissors this time.

I did the whole "use the comb and cut it a finger width long" and went around his head again and again.  He still has visible chop spots, but that's not the point.

The point is, when I was done, I was so DONE with cutting hair that I forgot to put the scissors away.

Then this happened:

E, who I thought was downstairs, emerges from the bathroom with a "I'm happy for a very bad reason" look on her face, playing with her arm like she's picking things off of it.  Things I couldn't see.  I asked her "what did you do?"

"I cut my hair because I wanted it short like A's"

I immediately called my mom and apologized for that time I cut my own hair when I was 4.

Then I cried.

the damage

the haircut

the absence of hair

the proud child




1 comment:

  1. Remember that time you gave me "layers" by putting my hair in three different ponytails stacked on top of one another? Remember the end result? I do.

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