Saved by Torie Montana

It'd been years since I'd last fallen into the trap so you can imagine my shock. There I was staring sadly into the mirror, mourning the dark snippets of hair now lying lifeless in the sink. I'd been seized with the notion that my hair demanded immediate attention; that it was a monstrous affront that mustn't see the light of day.

I must take matters into my own hands I thought - especially as Torie Montana, my daughter the hair stylist, was nowhere to be found. I mean, really, where is a 22 year old on a Friday night at 11 p.m. when her mother is having such a crisis?

Knowing that such impulses generally put one on the road to disaster, you'd think I'd have stopped myself. But whether it was a quirk of the light or the lateness of the evening, I seemed to see clearly what must be done. It was only the tiniest bit off the front that needed to go. That's it! Shaping! How hard could that be?

I combed my wet bangs at what surely must be the right angle and with all the confidence of a woman whose daughter is the hair stylist, I picked up Torie's scissors. I did pause to see whether the sky would really fall as she had led me to believe might happen if I touched them.

The firmament was obviously staying put. So far, so good. I held my breath and made a first cut.

Hmmm...not bad - except for the bottom left edge there...let's try one more small snip...

Oops...well, no worries. My bangs could be a little shorter. If I comb them flatter, press down hard with my free hand and turn the scissors just so...

Oh dear...that's not good. I'm starting to look as if I've been through a chipper. Well wait, wispy bangs are downright sexy and I've seen Torie Montana create the look countless times. You just turn the scissors parallel with the hair and take short, fast snips. 

Yikes! Is there some wrist action I'm not aware of? Or, maybe I'm not cutting deeply enough...

Oh good Lord! What have I done! 

And that's how I ended up staring sadly into the mirror. At this moment I was worried only about my chipper head and had yet to give any thought to how I was going to explain this to Torie Montana. She night not take it well since, generally speaking, my head belongs to her.

Still in angst, I heard the front door open.

"Mom, are you up?"

For heaven sakes, I hadn't felt this kind of panic since my mom caught me kissing Tom Boenig on the front steps in eighth grade! I did the only thing I could think of.

I nonchalantly walked into the living room.

"Hi, darlin," How's that for casual?

"Why are you wearing a baseball hat and your pajamas?"

"I'm wearing a hat? Silly me. I must have forgotten to take it off...you know, from before..."

She looked at me kind of strangely and then yawned. "Well, I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure thing, Missy Boo. Sleep tight."

She was all the way to her bedroom door before she turned around.

"I'll fix it in the morning."

"Thank you, Torie Montana. You're an angel."

She went into her room and shut the door. I waited until I was sure she was sleeping before putting her scissors back where they belonged. No sense in being completely busted. 

Above you see my beautiful - and savvy - girl, Torie Montana.