There's a popular old TV skit that goes "I'm crushing your head, I'm crushing your head.''
The guy, known as Head Crusher, puts two fingers up to his eyes and envisions the object's head between fingers and CRUSH.
Is it wrong to admit I thought of the skit often this week?
It was Spring Break. Spring Break is not for the weak and poorly planned. In other words, not for me.
My daughter walked down the stairs this morning, before my first cup of strong cafe con leche was consumed, dramatically laid on the bench in the kitchen and clutched a plastic sack to her chest. The sack contains a huge ball of hair. Her hair. She lost about 5 inches of length yesterday and she is not happy. And, when Maria is not happy, Mami is not happy.
"Mami, I miss my hair. Why did you tell her to cut my hair? Why, Mami?''
It's also how she went to bed, demanding to know what exactly I was thinking when I made the hair appointment.
Well, while it broke my heart to whack off her beautiful long hair, a recent lice scare and the constant knots led to the chop chop. (The hair in the bag, by the way, is to sprinkle in our garden to keep the deer away.)
As is often the case, my head-crushing fantasies had more to do with me and my attitude than with hers. I'm busy with freelance work, taxes and a couple of other projects. Answering the question-on-a-loop "What can I do now?'' wasn't in the plan. My suggestions of "You can color, paint, clean, dance...'' were not often well-received.
Anyway, I expect several weeks of conversation about the new shoulder-length do. I just googled and discovered hair grows about six inches a year, so I may be in trouble for a long time.
She does look awfully cute though. And, as I plug my ears to block out the "why, why, why,'' I'm going to pretend she doesn't look so grown-up.