My sister, Marie, just called me in a bit of state. Her three year-old daughter, it seems, went to the hairdresser for the first time yesterday, and came away with the belief that she, too, could cut hair with style and flair. Evidently, she’s proceeded to use safety scissors to hack a chunk out of her mum’s lovingly coiffured mane.
Marie wanted to know if I can look after the budding stylist while she gets her crowning glory restored to an acceptable state by a qualified pro. I’ve agreed, on the terms that Sky isn’t packing any scissors – I’m happy with my hair the way it is, thank you.
I find it entertaining that Sky has latched onto the idea of hairdressing. Melbourne city salons tend to be fairly glamorous spaces, I suppose, with art deco mirrors and shiny equipment and walls lined with bottles of exotic-smelling potions. I can understand how all this could enchant a little kid – especially one with a wild imagination, like Sky.
Anyway, Marie’s managed to make an appointment with her usual hair stylist. St James Place is a bit of a trek for me, but I’ve agreed to head out there and take Sky for a baby-chino before Marie takes to have some shoes fitted. It won’t take too long, and should make for a fun romp with the niece.
Knowing Sky, she’ll be reasonably miffed that her hairdressing efforts weren’t met with appreciation. She loves sharing her creations, but tends to be rather protective of them. I hope Marie didn’t blow up too hard when she saw result. She was probably able to restrain herself, I’m guessing, given that she was on the phone to an important client at the time.
Personally, I can’t wait to see Sky’s cutting job before Marie gets it restyled. I bet it looks really cool through the eyes of a three year-old. No doubt Marie will be wearing a large hat over it, though.