Daddy and Mummy are going to bring me to a hairdresser to trim my hair this weekend. NO! Everyone loves my outrageously upright hair!
Mummy and Daddy love to rub their noses into my standing crop and sniff at them. Everyone I meet comments on my “cute” hair (am I the cute one, or my hair?) which defies gravity and stands at attention, following a slight clockwise spiral.
Mummy hates to see my hair go, but it’s really getting too long. She’s crazy enough to comtemplate bringing a small ziplock bag to collect my hair. Sigh Mummy and her crazy ideas… Wait, I have crazy parents.
One reason they’ve hardened their hearts to bring me to the hairdresser is because I’ve gotten into the habit of grabbing my hair in my fist (I can do it with my left or right hand, depending on which hand is free and snakes into my hair first). Then I’ll twist my hand and yank hard at my hair.
The adults see it as destructive and always try to get me to open my hand. Then they feel the heart aches when they see strands of my hair float to the floor. Daddy is the calmer one. He always tells me nevermind hair will grow back.
See? I wanna grow up to be like Daddy, cool and calm. The women just panick and fuss over me. No big deal, hair will grow back right? And if I do feel the pain, do you think I’ll still be silly enough to repeat the action? Relax la…