Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The scene I encountered when I entered her room was something I can only describe as resembling what I believe would be the beauty parlor from H-E-double toothpicks. One where things have gone horribly wrong-where a hairdresser with a grudge-or some misguided sense of style, has been at work.
There was hair EVERYWHERE. It took me a minute to sort out my confusion. Amy’s hair was a delicate shade of reddish blonde, and there was plenty of that. But I also saw black hair…and brown hair… and something that looked like fur…and I seem to recall some green hair too.
All I can say, is that Amy must have worked very quickly. When I say that the quiet in her room had lasted too long, it couldn’t have been more than 15 or 20 minutes. But put a pair of scissors in the hands of a child on a mission, and it’s long enough.
I don’t know who she started on first-herself, or one of the many stuffed animals that fell victim that day. No one was spared. Not even our dog Willow, who probably figured that hair cutting was just another form of attention. (So that’s where the fur came from.)
Of all the hair cuts given that day-they had one thing in common. Without a doubt, they were all bad. (Amy’s was a real piece of work-cropped down to her scalp in several places.) But at least her haircut and Willow’s haircut were not permanent, and would eventually grow out.
And what did Amy have to say for herself when her handiwork was discovered? “I didn't do it--my stuffed skunk did.”
So what do you say to an otherwise good three year old child, who is impossibly cute, telling a bold faced lie while holding a pair of safety scissors in her hand and covered with hair and fur? “Well I guess we should send skunk to beauty school then. If’s he’s going to be giving haircuts, he should at least learn to do them right.”
This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop prompt “hair disaster.”