Thursday, August 6, 2009


When my daughter was a baby, I took great delight in "doing" her hair. I put wee bows in it, trimmed her bangs and created new styles as it grew, and Grew, and GREW.

One day, when she was 3, she was due for a bang trim. As I got my grooming tools out, she stared up at me with her enormous eyes, stomped her tiny foot and said, "I DEMAND a professional!" Chagrined, I replied, "I'm a professional!" Undeterred, and with a note of real disgust she said, "Yeah, for DOGS!"

Obviously, I couldn't argue with her reasoning. I began taking her to human hair stylists.

This week she called me at work one afternoon. "Can you bring scissors home? I need a trim."
She sat at the picnic table in the slanting afternoon sun, and I combed and snipped and smiled.

I felt so... PROFESSIONAL!

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