Friday, April 16, 2010
And I'm very clear that I'm also out-gunned.
Case in point.
We've had a long, long standing rule about kids and scissors and hair. I will cut your hair into any style you desire. Pixie, layers, wedge, heck, even mullet, I will achieve that look for you. You, however, must agree to the Octamom School of Hair requirements, mainly, that you are not allowed, under any circumstances, to cut your own hair. Simple rule, simple mantra. Do.Not.Cut.Your.Own.Hair.
I was slicking 6 of 8's hair back into a ballet bun before dance class a few days ago when I noticed a little suspicious something.
As in, of the scissory sort.
A new little fringe of teeny tiny bangs had apparently and miraculously sprung from her brow.
"6 of 8," I intoned. "Tell me about these bangs."
"What bangs?" Blink. Blink.
"6 of 8, I can tell that you cut your hair! You know our rule! You cut your own hair!"
"No. No. I did not."
Her enormous blue eyes met mine and did not waver in their gaze.
"6 of 8, I've been around the parenting block a few times now and it is very clear that there are bangs here where there were none. I can tell that you cut your hair. Do not lie to me..."
"I'm not lying. I did not cut my own hair."
Somewhere from deep within my limbic system, a text message was sent to my conscience.
"You did not cut your own hair?"
"Then who cut your hair?"
"7 of 8. I had her cut my bangs for me."
"You had a two and a half year old cut your hair?!?"
"Yes. And I obeyed the rule. I did not cut my own hair."
And with that, she stumped me.
And I put a little more in her college fund.
Because I'm pretty sure she's gonna go for a Juris Doctorate.
Labels: 6 of 8