Let me preface this admittance of a failure in parenting with another admittance: I don’t do hair. And when I say hair, I mean my daughter’s hair. There are two styles that I can do for her, and that’s it. They are:
- The wonky pigtails/bunches – thus named because no matter how hard I try one of them is always slightly uneven, none of this cheerleader, perfectly balance business for me. I don’t even know how people do it, how are you supposed to see the angles? Multiple mirrors? The aid of aides? Robotics? Anyway so this ‘style’ will always generate quizzical looks from people.
- The Pineapple/Coconut – grab the hair, as much as possible, grab a bobble, stick the hair in the bobble, centre the mass of hair roughly in the middle of the top of the head, stick the bobble on it. Voila: the Pineapple/Coconut.
My daughter doesn’t let me do her hair anymore.
Now her mum does it, in ever more elaborate, and stylish ways. Problems with that? Well, yes because you see, she may build all that scaffolding up, but when it’s time for bath I’m sometimes the one who has to dismantle it. One bobble, is no problem, nor is two, generally. Today however I had to contend with some Frozen-esque design that had THREE BOBBLES. The first two came out fairly easily, not putting up too much of a fight. The third one though? Well, see for yourself:
Don’t worry… It’ll grow back*.
*I would like to add that no pain was caused to my daughter, to my knowledge. That being said, she’s as hard as nails, so what may well have made me scream (like a little girl ironically) may have not bothered her in the slightest.