Wednesday, March 2, 2011

They just need a little you mind?

My mother was always experimenting with different hairstyles.  Most often she enjoyed getting perms.  Even after they went out of vogue, she somehow felt it necessary to don curls.

One day while I was studying at our kitchen table, my mother walked with wet hair carrying a pair of scissors.  "Trina, can you give me a hand?" she asked handing me the scissors.  Initially I thought she needed a tag cut off or maybe a random thread trimmed from her top.

"What are these for?" I asked, somewhat confused.  She stood there, hands on her hips looking peturbed as she said "I don't have time to make it to the beauty parlor (that's what she called the 'salon') and my bangs are getting too long.  Can you give them a trim?"  Immediately I was hesitant.  "I don't know, mom.  Probably not a good idea for me to cut your hair.  I don't want to mess it up."  She wouldn't accept my gracious refusal.  She was insistent, "Really Trina!  I trust you.  Just take a little off...please?"

"Fine." I said as I took the scissors and stood up.  "Sit down." I ordered her as though I was taking charge of her hair dilemma.  She did as I asked.  I proceeded to parcel out as best I could what I thought was her 'bang region'.  Remember, this was not an easy task.  She had short, permed, layered hair.

When I was finally able to determine what hair was her bangs, I proceeded to stretch the hair down the front of her face as I had seen stylists always do.  Carefully, I trimmed what I thought was excess length...

What I forgot to take into account was that the hair would curl back up.  And maybe I trimmed a bit much having forgotten that tiny detail.  I watched as the remaining 1 inch of bang furled itself against her hairline.  Ooops.  She looked like a middle aged Cupie Doll.  Only her bangs were shorter.

I tried to keep from laughing as I said in the most proud, convincing way I could, "There you go!  I hope you like it!"...She got up from the chair and walked into the powder room next to our kitchen.

I watched as she intially tried to make sense of what I did.  Then observed as her smile faded and her face turned red.  "What did you do?" she asked with some tension in her tone.  "What do you mean?" I replied, now looking at the floor to keep from busting out laughing.  "I mean, you completely chopped off my bangs.  What the hell is this?" she asked as she pulled the remaining hair down and released it...watching as it made the straightway for her scalp.

"Well, I don't recall telling you I was a stylist.  You asked me to trim them, so I did the best I could. Besides, who cares?  They'll grow out!" I said in my lame attempt to put a positive spin on a bad situation.  "How about I lop off your bangs, Trina?  Would you be ok with just 'letting them grow'?"  Then I said something that I probably shouldn't have, "Well, mom, I would know better than to ask a family member to cut my hair."

Whoops.  Hearing that made her furious...I got an earful.  So much for my good deed.

She never did ask me to cut her hair again.  To this day thinks I chopped them short intentionally.

I'll never tell....



  1. I said it once and I'll say it again: Beauty. Parlour.