chop

a hair stylist i am not. about four years ago i decided to go blonde. rather than turn my head over to a professional at the proper venue i took matters into my own hands. "its not rocket science" i told myself...

the fumes got the best of me and 25 minutes later my recently brunet hair was cast in a smoldering orange. i was now kinda-blonde, if the lighting was right... but in natural light my head looked like shredded carrots...

so don't ask me why i thought i could somehow conquer the cluster of curls attacking my fifteen months olds cranium. my intent was to trim his bangs. a little off the front. half an inch - max, just so the spaghetti sauce wouldn't double as hair paste during our next meal. he was referred to as a girl twice this week...

i don't fully recall what happened. my motions blur together... a snip, a cut, he winced and moved and ooops... i wasn't going to to touch the sides and why does it look like i used a bowl... how do you manage this mane?

so, his aunt gretchen says he looks like Llyod from Dumb and Dumber. his grandmother is just grateful he's not in school yet. and the twenty bucks i thought I'd save by cutting his hair myself I ended up spending at the GAP on an overpriced ball cap before his father came home. well, it may not be rocket science, but it certainly takes a trained professional to handle hair.