Confessions of a Serial Snipper

It started in the 70s.  I had a few Barbies.  My sister had a few Barbies.  Neither of us had any Kens.  We were too young to play Sapho, Queen Poet of the Island of Lesbos and the Indigo Girls were not happening at that time, so I took a pair of scissors that I smuggled from my mom's sewing basket.  (Side Note:  We were not allowed to play with scissors at all.  In fact, at my Kindergarten parent teacher conference, the teacher asked my mom if anything was wrong with my hands because I didn't know how to hold a pair of scissors - true story!)  Anyway, I grabbed a couple of Barbies with my smuggled pair of scissors, crawled under the bed and cut off their hair.  Voila!  Ken dolls!  And... the birth of my obsession with cutting hair.

 I went to college and all I have to say about that is thank goodness for big hair!  I'd give perms to my friends for $20 and a blender of daiquiris.  As I'd rinse out their hair with Jon Bon Jovi screaming "Blaze of Glory" in the background, they'd always ask me to trim their bangs.  I'd obliged, like any good friend, and then I'd mousse the hell out of it and dry it until they stood on end.  Bam!  Big bangs!  Then, I'd take my $20 and go get my hair professionally trimmed.  My Own Momma didn't raise no dummy!

Eventually, my friends graduated and got real jobs and began paying real hair stylists to do their hair.  I graduated and began my career as a public school teacher and discovered that I could be poorer than a starving college student.  In a moment of weakness, I trimmed my own hair.  I mean, c'mon!  How hard can it be?  I'd trimmed in dire circumstances (under my bed) and before Kings (Jon Bon Jovi's was royalty as far as I am concerned - even if only through a cassette tape!).  Surely I could cut my own hair, right?

How'd that first time hacking my own hair work out, you ask.  Well...Thank goodness it was the 90s and grunge was in.  I just pulled my bangs (what was left of them) back with a black headband and slathered on black eyeliner, and I kept my head down.  While waiting for my bangs to grow out, I completely over-analyzed my technique.  And when my bangs were down to my nose, instead of keeping them there and continuing with my grunge look, I hacked them off yet again.  Even My Own Momma offered to pay for me to have them professionally trimmed - in six months when they grew out again!

Clearly, I had no talent for cutting my own hair and after those two episodes, I learned that lesson.  Maybe I'm a slow learner.

Or maybe I'm not a learner at all because I did it again... And again!

This summer, the DAY OF FloJo's going away dinner, when my closest girlfriends (who have never let ME cut their hair) were all gathered for a dinner out and a night at a comedy club, I decided I needed my bangs trimmed.  I grabbed my scrapbooking scissors (that I paid over $20 for about six months before I quit scrapbooking!) and headed to the bathroom.  Three hacks of the blades later, I emerged from the bathroom with no bangs.  Really.  No bangs.

I texted my girlfriends and said:  I cut my own bags... Dammit.  Two texted back and said:  What bags.  FloJo texted back and said:  You are never supposed to cut your own bangs.   She gets me.

Good news for hair:  it grows.  Eventually, my bangs were finally too long to even push to the side in that uber-cute Nicole Ritchie look.  (I said her BANGS were cute!)

So cute! And so easy to use!
And small - they can be hidden anywhere!

Bad news for hair:  I still have scissors.  And last week, I snipped yet again.   I finished chopping my bangs and walked from the bathroom to hide the scissors from myself (at least until summer time), and The Dad caught a glimpse of my hair.

"Why?"  he said with a slight shake of his head.

"They needed trimmed," I whined, somewhat defensively.

"And they had to be trimmed at 11:30 at night?"  Sometimes I just don't think he gets women.

"Uh, yeah," I said in my best Nicole Ritchie voice. "I don't have time to do it during the day."

He sighed, then with compassion in his eyes he said, "OK, honey, from now on, I will PAY for you to go get your bangs done right.  I will PAY for a babysitter if that's what it takes.  I will even PAY for a taxi if you don't feel like driving!  Just quit cutting your own hair!"

Ahhh... that was so sweet of him to offer, "Thanks, Bubby," I sighed, "But what I'd really like for you to pay for is a hat."