why i'm not allowed to play with scissors anymore

Boredom and depression are not good moods for me to have together. Things happen when I’m bored and depressed - things that would otherwise have never have been imaginable. But the combination of these two states might possibly be what finally brings about the demise of the Space Time Continuum.

As a child, my mother never had to worry about me and scissors. I knew they were for cutting designated paper products and not for other things like carpet, furniture or hair. Well, my hair anyway. I had no qualms about chopping off Barbie’s luscious locks in favor of a much more stylish mohawk. But I never had the urge to play barbershop with my own hair. Unlike my brother, who at age 6, clipped out a nice fat triangle right in the middle of his bangs. (Yeah, bangs, I know. But it was the 70s. Everyone had a bowl cut back then.) I knew back then that I should leave the cutting of MY hair to professionals. Or at least people who were over the age of 5.

One night last weekend I was bored. I was still upset by having lost the battle with my husband about adopting MY CAT (that situation was later remedied) and I thought a shower might do the trick.

I love showers! The hot water, the steam, the SMELL of clean. It gets me every time. Once the lovely shower had ended I started on my normal routine of trying to slather my entire body in lotion whilst balancing a towel turban of wet hair on top of my head. During the Dance of the Lotioning an idea popped into my head. I needed bangs! Right now! I needed them like I needed oxygen. I couldn’t possibly wait another minute to realize my dream of the bangs that were pictured in my head. The lotion and the towel forgotten, standing naked in the bathroom, I grabbed some nail scissors, wiped the steam off the mirror and started snipping. I didn’t even bother to measure or comb. I knew in my heart of hearts that what I was doing would give me the most beautiful hair in the WORLD!

Once the bulk of the cutting was done I pulled out the blow dryer so I could see my masterpiece in it’s full glory.

And oh, the horror. In the process of trying to give myself lovely side swept bangs that flowed seamlessly into face framing layers, I had somehow missed the mark. It looked like I had bangs that wound all around my head. It was the beginnings of a Kentucky Waterfall; of Business in the Front, Party in the Back; of a rednecked MULLET! I threw the scissors in a drawer, walked out of the bathroom and informed my husband I wasn’t allowed to play with scissors anymore.

Then I called my stylist. She deserves a medal because she didn’t even hesitate or laugh. She just fixed it. And gave me a bright new shiny color to go with it.