So last month, I finally took PinkGirl for a L O N G overdue trim. She has long, blond, “Alice in Wonderland” hair and the bottom 2 or 3 inches were a split-end fest. I should have warned her. Really. My fault.
Years ago, my hair dresser explained that if you don’t cut a hair above the split, it will continue to split. She compared it to a split fingernail. If you don’t cut the nail down to where the split begins, it will just keep splitting.
So I knew.
I knew PinkGirl’s hair needed to be trimmed to a “healthy” length. The split ends needed to be trimmed about 2 to 3 inches. And I didn’t warn her. I should have warned her.
In the middle of the haircut, PinkGirl asked if she could go tell her mom something. She came to me, leaned in and whispered, “She’s cutting too much.” And that’s when I explained about split ends. I even drew a little picture. PinkGirl went back to the chair, finished the haircut with a smile and some friendly giggles.
But I knew.
The MINUTE we get outside, she starts to cry. (She didn’t want to cry in front of the ladies in the hair salon.) I comfort her and apologize. More than a few times. But she’s in the back of the car, crying and lamenting. In the end, she dubbed herself:
“a short haired loser.”
Nothing I could say would make it better.
The next day, at school, “everybody” liked it and I thought maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Until I asked her a question later that evening, at dinner. I was getting up for some reason and I asked, “PinkGirl, can I get you anything?” In a light, but definitely sarcastic tone, she replied:
“Yes. The hair I had YESTERDAY!”