When I was a very little girl, I found a pair of tiny scissors. They were probably used by my dad for trimming nose hair or his mustache. I don't remember where I got them, but it's safest to bet they were my dad's.
You know how many people (yourself included) are pyromaniacs? Well, not me. I mean, I like a good fire, but I just don't get my jollies from playing with it. It burns. It smokes.
Well, I do have a thing for cutting. I don't know what it is. But when I found those scissors, I kept them on me at all times (only at the house). (Well, I don't know if I was even school-aged, to be honest.) And what I did with those scissors? Ha, well, let me tell you. I cut my brothers' hair. Both of them. (Not both hairs. Both brothers' hairs.) Not all at one sitting. But every once in awhile I'd whip out those little scissors and cut some of their hair. They're younger than me, so it was easy to persuade them - if they even knew what was going on.
Eventually my mom found out and the scissors were taken away.
Well, that wasn't a thing of the past. It wasn't a childish game to carry scissors around and cut my brothers' hair. Just a few moments ago, I was looking for my scissors and when I found them, I started cutting my cats' hair. Two different cats. I would have just kept going if the cats didn't start batting at the scissors. This JUST happened. Why do I have a fascination with cutting hair? Not giving haircuts. Don't think that I like to cut hair for real, and give it a style. No. I'm no good at that. I just like to cut hairs. Elvis (my cat) might have a funky patch of hair on his haunches now....but that's the great thing about hair. It'll grow back!
No comments:
Post a Comment