It was bound to happen. So now it’s out of the way. I grabbed a handful of your hair and chopped it off. Better now than when you’re eight and on the verge of a bratfest. It’s hideous, and I’m sorry. You wouldn’t sit still, and, um, all I had handy were eyebrow trimming scissors. Had your father done this, and I’d come home to see your hair the way it is now–basically a mullet–I’d have shrieked, and quite possibly, mentioned a trailer park or Dairy Queen. You’ve got bangs where you shouldn’t have bangs. It’s horrendously uneven, but if I try to even it out.. well, we all know what happens when mama tries to even things out, don’t we? She gains five pounds and finishes the whole damn pie. So I’m walking away. At least you’re still smiling, even if you do have summer teeth (sum’er here and sum’er there).