Friday, January 13, 2006

An Early End To My Career As A Hairdresser

My grandmother lived in an old farmhouse, built around 1800. It had five bedrooms and two staircases, one in the front of the house, leading up from the "parlor, " and another off the kitchen. The upstairs bedrooms were for the most part unused, and so was the parlor (except for holidays). This created a perfect playplace for little girls who liked to play dress-up.

We were great fans of Little House On The Prairie, especially since the Ingalls Family had three girls, just like ours. My mother sewed a lot of our clothes when we were little, and we all had calico dresses just like those Mary, Laura, and Carrie wore, complete with bonnets and pinafores. We outgrew Little House On The Prairie before we outgrew playing dress-up, so in time we switched to what we considered "ballgowns," which were long, floaty dresses, some with sequins, purchased at the Thrift Store in the center of town for $10. We made many grand entrances down the staircase into the parlor, decked out in our finery.

One of the upstairs bedrooms had a makeup table with a mirror that had lights all around, like the kind movie stars used. The top of it was covered with blush and mascara, hair rollers, and an assortment of other beauty products. We were, of course, not allowed to use the makeup, although I'm pretty sure we tried out a lipstick from time to time. It was at this table that we would sit to do our hair. And along with the eyelash curlers and tweezers, the table contained a little pair of scissors.

I'm not sure how old I was when I decided to cut my sister's hair. Old enough to remember it, anyway. I'm guessing I was about seven at the time, which would have made her four. I didn't cut all of her hair, just her bangs. I've mentioned before that I'm not exactly good at straight lines, right?

I must have known right away that I'd done something wrong, because I made her promise me, before we went downstairs, that she wouldn't tell anyone. I didn't, of course, want her to know that I thought I'd done anything wrong, because even a four-year-old knows the fun to be had from tattling. So I think I said something along the lines of "Now, let's not tell anyone, and we'll just see if they notice on their own." I'm not sure whether or not I tried to cover the damage with her bonnet, but even if I did, in the end it didn't matter. She couldn't contain her excitement, and as soon as we got to the bottom step she blurted out, "Mommy, look, Sister-Who's-About-To-Be-Grounded-For-Life cut my hair!" Only she didn't say Sister-Who's-About-To-Be-Grounded-For-Life, she said my name, effectively eliminating my only defense, which would have been to blame it on my older sister.

I didn't get grounded for life, but I did get yelled at, and I'm guessing we weren't allowed to use the makeup table for awhile. I was really mad at her, too, because I knew nobody would have noticed if she had kept her mouth shut (I think the bangs ended up in a sort-of upside-down "V" shape...No, of course nobody would have noticed that).

My sister goes to a professional hairdresser these days. If she ever wants a quick touch-up, though, I have a little pair of scissors...

Posted by The Gradual Gardener :: 8:34 AM :: 4 Comments:

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