It all started at about age 5 when my Mom bought a Bride doll as the centerpiece for my new bedspread. She was a beautiful doll in a white wedding dress with long blonde hair. There she sat, centered perfectly, just in front of the pillows on my bed.
Something’s NOT right with that hair! Thus began my love affair with scissors and hundreds of bald headed dolls.
At the tender age of 12 I refused to EVER go to the “beauty parlor” again after coming out of a perm looking like the Bride of Frankenstein. “I can do better than this myself and I’m only 12!!” I wailed to my Mom.
So, my bathrooms have always been set up so I have mirrors on opposing walls to view all sides of my hair, depending on the angle of the mirrors. I LOVE scissors.
I thought you inherited my love of scissors, my girl, when I caught you (hmmm, at about age 5) behind the sofa with a pair of my scissors to your head. One side of your hair all the way up to your ear. I yanked you up and hauled you to my bathroom. You looked like that beautiful little Bride doll sitting there facing the mirror with your feet in my sink. But, something’s NOT right with that hair!
I don’t think you’ve touched a pair of scissors to your hair since that day. Is it too late to tell you I’m sorry you started Kindergarten looking like a beautiful boy?