Hair today, gone tomorrow...

I'm sitting on the couch watching TV or surfin' the net (I can't remember which) and my nine month old son crawls over. He reaches under the sofa and pulls out a lock of hair. Peculiar... extremely. What really mystifies me is that I can't figure out the hair. Its is not mine... its too long. Its not my wife's... its too curly. It is not my son's... its too dark. Apparently, if we can be divided into a dichotomy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's two most famous characters, then I am Dr. Watson.

Sometime later, I notice that my 3 year old daughter's hair looks different. I shrug it off as my being the effects of a redesign by my mother, who has been watching my son and daughter while I ran an important errand. I pinned my daughter's bangs up and left her long, flowing, curly hair down in the back (perhaps, fair reader, you have come to realize what I had failed to... but bear with me a moment longer).

My daughter's beautiful. Any father would say that, but I have heard many a person say that she is cute... even impartial and very blunt individuals. Perhaps her cuteness will not extend beyond the cruelty of puberty, but I think I can say, with as much objectivity that is possible for a proud father, that she is a cute little girl. Her most striking feature is her long dark curls.


My advice to those future and present parents who shall grace this blog is this: never put scissors in your child's art box!
Or else, your daughter shall look (as Mary the hairdresser says) like Joe Dirt.

My daughter's new, self-imposed,
hairstyle before emergency "hair" surgery.

Fortunately, there is a good hairdresser in our town and princesses have short hair, too.