"Mom, what did you do?!”
I stared in the mirror at my small 5 year old face with a head of hair cropped short to the ears.
My mom looked at me sympathetically,
“Ellie, if you wouldn’t have cut your hair in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to make it so short. You would have looked worse if I didn’t do it.”
Looking in the mirror with my young eyes and youthful view of beauty, I cried.
Earlier that morning, I had undertaken the job of cutting my very blonde locks of hair off. Now, mind you, I didn’t cut just a small snippet at the side of my head, but went for a full on hack job. The result: me, a very nervous little girl awaiting my mother’s wrath, and a head with a disastrous hair cut.
I’m not sure what prompted me to do such a thing—something almost all young children undertake sooner or later—but after I had finish I was horrified with the result. Oh wonder of wonders! My mom was, of course, the first one to discover my little deed as she walked into her bedroom one morning.
“Yeah, I was talking wi—“
She stopped talking to Carrie, my older sister, and looked at me. I looked back at her with what I thought was a very innocent face expression (hah!).
I starting scooting for the door,
“I’m gonna go play outside with Will…”
“Wait a second! Ellie,” she looked at me piercingly “what did you do to your hair?!”
No response.
“Ellie May Brain!”
That was it; I knew I’d had it. When my parents started pulling out the full title I was in mucho trouble! With what I knew was going to be the end, I turned and looked into my mothers cobalt eyes; which I always had the feeling could see straight through everything. She was mad; I mean really mad.
Obviously the next best option from me not cutting my hair in the first place, was for her to cut it, and cut it short. It was already quite short on one side due to my immaculate handy work, so to even it out my mother had to cut the other side. After she was done, crying, I ran to the movie cupboard, picked out a movie with Jonathan Taylor Thomas on the cover and proclaimed with much misery that,
“I look just like hhhiiiimmm! I look ugly; I look like a boy!”
Carrie, tried to console my self-injured heart,
“Its okay, El., you don’t look that bad. Besides, your hair will grow out soon.”
Still clutching the movie case in my arms and sobbing, I realized for the fiftieth time what a stupid idea my self hair-cut was. Neither I, nor my mom ever cut it short again. To this day I have long hair.
