The ‘Hairtrum’

Child 3 is rather partial to her hair.  Child 3 also has rather high expectations of my skills with regard to styling her hair.  I work in admin.  I have no hairstyling experience; I can barely be arsed to dry mine never mind straighten, curl, pin, plait, tease or ‘shush’.  In essence I am a cheap date; other than wearing makeup which is a necessity if I’m to be accepted as human in the general community; I do little else.  Nails; they grow (at different rates), they break, I’ll nibble them off then move on. That’s fingers; toes get even less attention, when my shoes no longer fit I’ll be forced into a hoof-trimming session other than that; nowt. I don’t do waxing, threading, never visit a hairdresser (I have two besties to do my paltry bidding in this regard) or beauty parlour. And as for botox, fillers, lip pumping, eyelash extensions and teeth whitening I’m simply not prepared to engage. I’ll do my best with the face and hair God gave me and if it’s not good enough for anyone they can kindly bugger off.


Child 3 doesn’t understand why I’m so rubbish at hair.  She believes all Mother’s should be good at this; as if there’s a course available that I’ve not been bothered to attend.  This friend’s Mother is amazing, that friend’s Mother is brilliant; I on the other hand am shit.  Perhaps I should take this lack of skill more seriously; maybe spend my spare time watching ‘YouTube’ demonstrations with a ‘Girl’s World’ head between my legs?  I could even ask one of the ‘better Mum’s’ for help in navigating a ‘fishtail plait’ or other such time-consuming hair skulduggery but my lack of giving a shit prevents me from doing so.  So how have I solved this tricky issue?  An issue that last week alone led to explosive diva-style tantrum’s on three consecutive mornings.  Mornings I debated driving Child 3 to the nearest Orphanage; the only thing preventing me from doing so was the lack of postcode to plug into the Sat Nav.  Tantrum’s that included snot, spittle and during one epic moment my own hair being dramatically swiped at and her screaming at me ‘THERE  NOW YOU LOOK UGLY!’.  So you see something had to be done.  And done it has been. 


Yes, yes I’ll share with you my well-thought out resolution to this hairy problem.  8 inches.  That’s right 8 inches lobbed off the bottom of her barnet; she’s now sporting a short bob with not a cat-in-hell’s chance of doing anything more with it than a comb-through! 


You see; ‘where there’s a will there’s a way’; and I have the will to find a way to dodge any tantrum!

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