A Note on Hairdressers

We all gathered at Grandpa and Grandma Jones' house this evening for a Mother's Day shindig. My wife and I and my three kids and my brother and his family including his little three-year-old daughter who pals around with my little girl who's two.

All seemed to go just fine except that the two little girls split the scene early on to go play in Grandma's Play Room. Of course, the rest of us were all too eager to have some peace and quiet so we perhaps didn't monitor the situation like we should have. We didn't hear any really loud sounds and the crying was kept to a healthy minimum, so we figured we'd just enjoy the evening.

After about 20 minutes, however, my sister-in-law sensed that the quiet was entirely too spooky so she ventured into the bowels of the homestead to check in on the two troublemakers. She crept back to the Play Room and listened in, but heard absolutely no talking. She then peaked in to a horrific sight.

The two twerps had somehow sprung the lock on Grandma's sewing box and my niece had conveniently encountered a slick, sharp set of scissors and had proceeded to give them both very elegant haircuts. Needless to say, both mothers were a little exasperated by the development and pretty relieved to discover that hair was the only thing cut by the scissors.

Ahhhh, good times.