When I was little, my parents used our house as a Bed and Breakfast. To me, that mostly meant having ten minutes to find every sock I had lost in the house when someone called from town and wanted a room for the night. But every once in a while, there was a guest that stood out.
There was one regular who came to the Inn all the time. He was divorced, and every time he had his two girls for the weekend he would bring them to the Inn. I don’t know if he didn’t have room for them at home or if he just didn’t want to be on his own with two children, but whatever the reason, two weekends a month he would show up. One of the girls was a little older than I was and really cool, but the little one was just a little crazy. She was always nice when we played together, but she had a very strong desire to cut her hair.
Whenever this family was coming, my mother would have to go through the inn and hide everything that could possible cut hair. Sewing scissors, nail clippers, everything.
If you forgot a Swiss army knife, that kid would find it and start chopping off chunks of her hair! And when she couldn’t find scissors, she would make us all play hair salon so she could pretend to cut our hair.
A few times she found something and managed to chop a chuck of hair right off before anyone could stop her. She would be proud, her dad would freak out and borrow the phone to warn his ex-wife that their daughter now had a chunk of hair missing from the center of her hair.
My sister and I used to take bets on whether or not the kid would go home with a full head of hair. It was great family entertainment.
Part of me wonders if she had some deep psychological issues that made her want to chop her hair off. But I like to think she’s just become the world’s best hair stylist.