I am sure the hairdressers among you, as well as victims of bad haircuts, can relate to this sad story. This is my sister Phyllis, over at Anchors and Butterflies. Note the beautiful blonde hair. Wouldn’t you just love to have hair like that? Well, many years ago, in a land far away, she was home from college for the weekend, complaining that she needed a haircut, bad. A person could be forgiven for thinking that she meant a bad haircut I was just the one for the job. I got right to work.
Like all jobs skillfully executed, hair cutting looks easy enough. I’d watched it plenty of times and knew just what to do. I wrapped her wet head in a towel and dragged a comb through her hair, despite her fussiness about a mole and her ears. I kind of parted and pinned and got started.
I did pretty well at first, then took a wild whack on one side, getting it really short. When I tried to make the other side match, it looked awful. It was a mess of gashes and ridges. Her scalp shone through in spots. It looked like I’d used rick-rack to cut a pattern. I felt horrible, but started laughing. For some reason, I still thought I could save it, but the laughing gave me away. She jerked the towel away, speeding to the bathroom to look. When I didn’t hear anything, I dared hope she liked it.
“Wah! Boo Hoo Hoo! I’m gonna kill you!” She came flying out of that bathroom gripping her hand mirror and hairbrush headed In my direction.. She chased me around the house three times before Mother got her stopped. Fortunately, I had a good start or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.
Mother tried to calm her with some worthless reassurances like, “It doesn’t look that bad.” and her old favorite, “It’ll grow back.” Personally, I’d as soon have my teeth bashed in as be reassured, “It’ll grow back.”
Phyllis left later that day puffy-eyed, wearing a scarf. Mother had scraped up ten dollars for her to get her hair repaired, reassuring her all would be well. Phyllis skipped her classes the next morning, hunting up a “good” hairdresser. He told her he had seen worse haircuts — but couldn’t remember when.
I would like to have included an after picture, but there wasn’t one.
We’re both bad…I’d have probably had the giggles, too! :)p
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Poor Phyllis. Ha ha. She got what she asked for. Her ‘sister’ cutting her hair. Too hilarious. Does the fun never stop when you’re around? 😀
😛
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Stuff does seem to happen.
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It sure does. 😀 😀 😛
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Poor girl. She should have bought a wig. I had several when they were in style. They could be hot, though. 🙂 —- Suzanne
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Oh, will have to post a story about her wig misadventure! Thanks for idea!
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Poor Phyllis! I have been there and know how horrifying it is. Yes, it grows back but it takes what seems like years and years!
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And it had previously been gorgeous.
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Looking at the photo it looks like it was just gorgeous! Poor girl.
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I took care of that!
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Hahaha! Yes, you did! LOL
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My older sister cut my hair only once…when I was 2 and she was 6. I was delighted, mother cried.
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Wonder why Mom wanted to act like that.
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Nope. I would have never let a sibling near me with a pair of scissors. ☺
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She developed that same philosophy. I don’t know why she chanced it!sure the hairdressers among you, as well as victims of bad haircuts, can relate to this sad story. This is my sister Phyllis, over at Anchors and Butterflies. Note the beautiful blonde hair. Wouldn’t you just love to have hair like that? Well, many years ago, in a land far away, she was home from college for the weekend, complaining that she needed a haircut, bad. A person could be forgiven for thinking that she meant a bad haircut I was just the one for the job. I got right to work.
Like all jobs skillfully executed, hair cutting looks easy enough. I’d watched it plenty of times and knew just what to do. I wrapped her wet head in a towel and dragged a comb through her hair, despite her fussiness about a mole and her ears. I kind of parted and pinned and got started.
I did pretty well at first, then took a wild whack on one side, getting it really short. When I tried to make the other side match, it looked awful. It was a mess of gashes and ridges. Her scalp shone through in spots. It looked like I’d used rick-rack to cut a pattern. I felt horrible, but started laughing. For some reason, I still thought I could save it, but the laughing gave me away. She jerked the towel away, speeding to the bathroom to look. When I didn’t hear anything, I dared hope she liked it.
“Wah! Boo Hoo Hoo! I’m gonna kill you!” She came flying out of that bathroom gripping her hand mirror and hairbrush headed In my direction.. She chased me around the house three times before Mother got her stopped. Fortunately, I had a good start or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.
Mother tried to calm her with some worthless reassurances like, “It doesn’t look that bad.” and her old favorite, “It’ll grow back.” Personally, I’d as soon have my teeth bashed in as be reassured, “It’ll grow back.”
Phyllis left later that day puffy-eyed, wearing a scarf. Mother had scraped up ten dollars for her to get her hair repaired, reassuring her all would be well. Phyllis skipped her classes the next morning, hunting up a “good” hairdresser. He told her he had seen worse haircuts — but couldn’t remember when.
I would like to have included an after picture, but there wasn’t one.
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And then…this happened ??? ☺☺☺
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She gets professional haircuts now. What a waste.
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You must be such a good soul that she forgave you… she even drove in the same car with you as I remember from last year… lol!
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She pouted till it grew back. Her hair was her pride, too! Till then!
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OMG…. til then…. you taught her differently… lol!
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I bet she never asked you again !!!
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My career was short and not so sweet!
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