bad haircut

Brian kept making comments all week about the recent haircut I gave our darling Ana. Ok, I might sorta agree that her bangs were a tiny bit severe, but I didn’t think it looked that bad. But his jokes were relentless and it was starting to piss me off.

So on Sunday, after his 50th “Have you seen window head?”, I annoyingly grabbed a pair of scissors, waved them around, and softly sang, “Oh Ana, where are you?”

I might have looked a little crazy.

Brian: No no no…just leave it alone. You’ll only make it worse.

Me: No I won’t. I can totally blend her bangs in. I just didn’t have the time before.

Brian: I’m sorry I said anything. Really, please, just don’t.

Me: Fine, I won’t.

I put the scissors back and waited for Brian go upstairs. Then I quietly pulled the scissors back out and found Ana watching Scooby Doo.

Me: Ana, mommy’s going to fix your hair while you watch TV, ok?

Ana: Ok.

And that’s where it went wrong. So very very wrong.

It must have been an exciting edition of Scooby Doo because, as I was about to make a very professional cut that would have pulled the whole look together, she jumped up and…oops.

Ruh Roh, Shaggy.

I tried fixing the look by cutting some more, and more, and more, and more…and oh god, someone please stop me!

It wasn’t until I heard the voices say “Shaving her head would probably even this out…” that I threw the scissors down and scurried away to the closest corner.

It appears that I inadvertently created a new style that I like to call “Ultra Bangs”. Unlike regular bangs, which stop at the temple, Ultra Bangs say “Why stop there? Let’s take this shit all the way to the ears!”

FYI- Ultra Bangs are a bad look.

Ana saw the alarm on my face and knew that I had done something terrible. She got up, looked in the mirror, and then snapped. Next thing I know, she’s crawling around the floor like an animal (one with an awful haircut), grabbing tiny clumps of hair and slapping them to her forehead while screaming “Put it back! I want it back!” over & over again.

We were a sight, me sitting in the corner biting my nails, and her manically collecting hair like her little social life depended on it (it did).

Pull it together, Kim.

I knew, as her mother, it was my job to help her accept this new, cruel reality, which was…she was now a mullet child who would be home schooled until her bangs grew back in.

Shit! I can’t even find time to get a mani/pedi, now I gotta home school?

After we both accepted our new lots in life, I gently rocked her in my arms, while stroking her choppy hair and muttering “Pretty girl, Pretty girl, who’s mommy’s pretty girl?”

She wouldn’t answer.