Tuesday, September 21, 2010

comedy of Hair--ors

This piece is actually for my dad because I realized I never told him about it.  And when I thought of the title, it was such an awful pun, I knew this must be for him.  I mention this lest my other readers think I go around on *purpose* thinking of puns like that.  Let me hasten to assure you that it's congential...

When Cici was 4ish, she refused--foot down, lip out, squirmingly refused to let a stranger cut her hair.  Even if I sat in the chair with her.  Even if the stylist put the big smock around both of us.  No. Way. Jose. 

Well, not completely no way.  *One* time she did allow the barber who cut her brothers' hair to trim her bangs, too.  "Great!"  I thought, "Cute, too!  (followed by a big sigh of relief)." 

Short-lived relief as it turned out.  The next time I tried to take her to the same stylist/barber--by the time her bangs were in the vicinity of her lower lip and she was starting to develop an odd tic, well, it was do or die.  So--off to the 100Yen shop to get scissors and a smock(see--no expensive scissors, 'cause I'm only going to do this ONCE, I tell myself subconsciously).

OK.  So.  OK.  So...where's Aun'Bef when you need her?!!?  Aunt Bef, of course, inherited all the hair-cutting genes (on Chromosome 17, next to the stapler/tape/glue genes), leaving me with the need to cut hair, but no actual skill.  Of course, I could have practiced at some point in my life.  My sister did--all her dolls looked like Yul Brynner auditioning for a horror flick, whereas mine sport to this day the same coif they came out of the box with.  I knew, you see,  that if I took her hair out of the carefully arranged bun-with-ribbon that I'd  never get it back that way again.  So, I left it.  This attitude toward hair-styling is readily apparent in most of my school photos.

Darling Cici--you have no ideawhat you're getting yourself into.  Why...oh why...do you want Mommy to cut your hair?  Sweetie--the last time Mommy tried to cut your bangs, they came out looking like the Dow Jones Industrial Average after Black Monday (see photo above).

This time, weeeeell... :

I know.  It looks like I used Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle as a cutting guide.
Ok, so I stink at math--cut me some slack!  I tried using Feynman's sum-over-histories, but I couldn't get everything to cancel out...

Poor kid.
Sweetie, I promise I will *not* show this to your first boyfriend...:))



  1. It's a hair-oic pun!

    I'll get me coat...

  2. Possibly!

    If I can find it, I'll post a pic of me when I cut my own hair, aged nine or ten. Not sure what curve it makes, but logarithms are definitely involved...

  3. Hee Hee!! Somehow I never did understand that if I cut the dolls' hair, it was NOT going to grow back out... but I haven't paid for a haircut since high school, either! Well worth the cost of a few dolls, I say!

    I think the real impetus for me to develop secret haircutting skills was the day in 3rd grade when our hairdresser at the time laughed at my bang-cutting attempt. And then called the entire store over to point and laugh at it as well... Yah.
    You know me, the most easily mortified person in the world. I vowed that day to learn to cut my own hair so that evil woman and her ilk would never be able to tease me again! (still sticking my tongue out at her)

    And make sure the kids all need haircuts next time Aunt Bef comes to visit, because I'll totally bring the scissors!!

  4. Grown-ups just *don't* get that, do they. Bring da scissors! And I'll give you "Doubt:A history" :))