Snip, Snip?

My mother asked me a few weeks ago if I minded if she put a photo of the little angel in the local "brag book." I had no idea what she was talking about. It arrived in the mail yesterday.  It's an actual newspaper section of my hometown's weekly local newspaper.   It has all of the kiddos' photos in it, along with their parents and, of course, GRANDPARENTS' names on it.

I turned to page five to see the little angel. It was a cute photo - she doesn't take ugly photos - but looking at her as a stranger would, I noticed her hair looked like it had been through a hay mower.  Since birth, she has had what could only be described as a forelock - one long section of hair that grows, Squiggy-like, right down the middle of her forehead.  I'm always pushing it to the right, trying for graceful long hair, but I realized looking at that photo that it may be time for bangs.

Did I make an appointment with a professional?  Did I even think much about it?  No.  I handed the scissors to my beloved (like I was going to get near her with blades - I have to cut her fingernails, for God's sake) and grabbed her by the chin.  "Cut here," I instructed.  He made a wild swoop just as she turned her head. The cut wasn't what you would call "straight."  I instantly hated it. 

"What????  You can't have buyer's remorse NOW," he said.  "I'm late for my new job."

So off she went to Oz, now looking a bit more like the cowardly lion than Dorothy.  It'll grow.