Vivi is a regular at Ernie's Barber Shop. While I tend to let my hair go until it is a frightening, frizzed-out, untamed mess, my husband can be counted on for a trim every few weeks. It has become the tradition that when my husband goes to the barber, Vivi goes too. Ernie gets a real kick out of Vivi and Vivi gets a kick out of Ernie's candy jar. It is a win-win situation.
A couple of months ago, I wanted in on the action and decided to take Vivi with me to the hairdresser. I figured she would enjoy the hustle and bustle of the place and the old ladies who congregate there would love to see her head of curls. Plus, I was going to be transformed from long-haired mess to short-haired super-mom. (Well, that is what I was hoping for at least.) Who wouldn't want to witness that?
Well, it wasn't quite the wonderful bonding experience I had imagined. Vivi was bored out of her mind and while the old ladies did fawn over her curls, she just tried to hide behind her coloring book. Oh, and my transformation? Let's just say my daughter was less than impressed and I'm still waiting for those super-mom skills to kick in.
With such an uneventful trip to the salon, I was surprised when Vivi recently started asking to have her hair cut. It is certainly long enough but one wouldn't know that by looking at it. The curls are so tight they have yet to become a nuisance. Plus, we seem to spend a lot of time these days making her look "stylish" with every sort of elastic band or hair clip we come across. Short hair would put an end to that.
It took me a while to realize what was going on with her. It wasn't about the hair. It was about the scissors.
Too bad it took seeing numerous disembodied curls throughout the house to finally tip me off.