I, like most children, at a young age discovered scissors and my motor skills. My mother patiently and consistently telling me scissors are for paper, not for hair as I often threatened to make bangs for myself. This conversation, again for most children, happened at four or five years of age. “Caitlin, sweetie scissors are for paper, not for hair!” But like most daughters with mothers I did as I was not to do. I, indeed, created the ’90s bangs fashion for myself.. I have no one to blame for the bangs starting in the middle of my head but myself. As time went on, the scars of the ’90s bangs healed, and I again found a good pair of scissors. Most mothers only have to have the scissor conversation with their kids a handful of times when they are children and they are done, the kids learn the lesson through awkward hair cuts and stern motherly looks.
I, however, was not so sharp, I am not so sharp.
Long story short the scissor conversation was held on a bi-monthly basis for a solid fifteen years of my 21 and a half years of life. I never learned the scars of homemade hair cuts, that or my memory is terrible and mildly short term. Recently I have not had a scissor conversation “Caitlin, sweetie scissors are for paper.. NOT FOR HAIR”, I thought, wow I must have learned my lesson, or my mom thinks my homemade hair cuts are stellar. Either way, I was feeling really good.
The other day I cut all my hairs off, clearly I still need the scissor conversation.
My mother came home and bypassed me, no reaction what so ever to the lack of hair on my head. Goes to use the bathroom came out and with a grin spreading across her face in absolute pride exclaims “I see you know how to operate the vacuum these days.”