Question of the Day!

I got it in my head when I was three that I wanted to be a stylist in a salon. Rather than do the typical thing children do when that impulse hits (mutilate my toys) I decided to cut my own hair. I knew it would grow back and that my dolls' wouldn't. So I took the largest pair of scissors in the house, my little red and white pail, and sat myself down in the living room. My father was engrossed in some stupid show didn't see me or the impending doom. I began clipping away at my hair. My mother came into the living room. I don't quite remember which happened first, her yelling at me, her yelling at my dad, or her snatching the wickedly sharp scissors away from me.

I didn't get to touch her scissors again with permission until I was twelve. I rocked a haircut that had people asking if I was a boy or a girl, and my father kept a closer eye on me than ever before.




Gracie Ginger Cuddlebug Supreme
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