She’s not a junkie, she just has hair in her eye.

There is a reason I can clearly remember ever single time my mother cut my bangs. They looked like ass.

And despite swearing on dull kitchen scissors that I would never do the same to my offspring, well, um…

You see, there were these few, stray hairs on the Peanut. They were getting in her eyes, making her blink, rub, you know…act all addict. I figured I would just trim those few, stray hairs. Snip Snip clip clip and we’re done.

I appreciate that you are all still reading, seeing as you know where this is going. And you really would think that years of having my own bangs trimmed by my own mother would teach me. I ain’t never been no good at no learnin’.

So now that I have one of the Bay City Rollers for a daughter, I suppose I should go invest in some barrettes. Not that she’ll keep them in her hair. But I like to pretend I can fix this. I’m very good at pretending.

It should just be a law that I am never allowed to “do” anyone’s hair. It never turns out well. There was the time in college I helped dye my friend Ray’s jett black hair red. It never occurred to us black doesn’t dye well without first making the hair not so black. Not too long after that, I heard that you could dye your hair various hues if you used Kool-Aid. I couldn’t get my red, green, purple, and yellow streaks out in time for a job interview and had to beg a hair salon to get me in after 400 washes with Palmolive (which was supposed to take it out) did not work.

Kool-Aid and Palmolive! For all your haircare needs! And the warning lights never flashed for me why?????

Now I pay oodles of money to have someone else do my hair. I think I owe the same to my children.