While commenting on another blog, I was reminded of an old memory.
Long ago, I had a younger sister. Still do. This sister had long, beautiful hair with pretty natural curls. Everyone said so. I, on the other hand, had thin, straight hair that was shorter than hers. Something had to be done. After all, I couldn't let her be prettier and more noticed than me. I was rather vain, you see. I'm over that now.
The story continues. We were at my grandparent's house for a visit. I found scissors. A plan was hatched in my young brain. I had noticed that the neighbor's grass was quite long. Long enough, say, to hide hair once it was cut from a little girl's head. Long enough so no one would find it. Long enough so that no one would notice a young child was missing her hair. And long enough that a slightly older child wouldn't get into trouble. Yes, it was the perfect length.
I would be the most beautiful girl with the most perfect hair.
I coaxed my little sister into the long grass for her make over. She was always so passive and obedient. I set about to cutting her long locks and hiding the evidence in the lawn. We chatted. I clipped. We laughed. I snipped. Until I felt satisfied with my work. After all, just because she wasn't going to be as pretty as me, didn't mean she had to be ugly.
I hid the scissors in the grass with the hair and we went inside. I remember Grandpa saying it looked good. I remember Mom giving him the look of death. And I vividly remember the march upstairs for a spanking. A spanking with a hanger. A hanger???? Really, Mom? By the way, hangers hurt the butt regardless of how weird a tool they are for spanking.
Mom later said that they just had to trim one spot by the ear and the haircut was perfect. I was that good. And I was only three or so. Just imagine how awesome I am now! And I'm not even vain anymore.
Anyway, I also got my hair cut. And it was shorter than my sister's hair.
But probably not as nice, since someone else did it.