Pipsqueak came down from her bath this morning with nothing but a towel wrapped around her. Oh. And this:
And just in case that isn't enough of a fright, take another view:
But. She had the good graces to hold it together. No fussing or crying--from her. Her mother?! That's an entirely different ball of wax! I hiccuped my tears down. I paced the floor trying to focus before I attempted the surgical removal of the comb. I had to involve the Husband. In an urgent, frantic phone call I explained the situation, "That beautiful hair is going to be chopped off right at the scalp! It will take years to grow back! We will have to cut off all of her hair so it looks 'normal' *hiccup* Everyone will tease her! *hiccup-hiccup*" In a calm, soothing voice from the Husband, I was told to find the wire cutters and "simply cut the comb from the hair"!! Simply cut the comb from the hair?!?! Is he high?!?!?! But I did. And I did. And this is what it looked like:
We combed the hair! Pipsqueak hopped her way up to her room, got herself dressed, tied the damn shoes and went on her merry way to school. I'm still drinking coffee with the Bailey's. Yep. Just an average, normal day here . . .
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