When The Girl Child was 3 she cut her own hair, her long beautiful almost to her behind, hair. She gave herself what could only be described as a mullet, a very long in the back/short in the front, mullet.
She chopped the sides of her hair, and there was nothing to be done but give her the little pixie hair cut. You know the kind- it's so cute, but only while it's that length. Once it starts growing out it's not so much cute, as it is scraggly.
Upon talking to her about hair cutting, this conversation actually took place.
Smarty Pants: Em, only people who've been cutting hair for a long time, and have gone to school and practiced, can cut hair.
The Girl Child: But mom, I've been practicing my whole life.
Now imagine it with a darling little lisp, that 'practicing' sounds a whole lot cuter- but doesn't it?
There was nothing to do but giggle, while trying to keep a straight face. I didn't succeed. She cut her own hair a few more times after that, although never so drastically.
We finally got her to stop by telling her if she did it again, she'd have to get her hair cut like Daddy's. She wasn't in love with the idea of the buzzer with the #2 guard on it coming at her head. I'm really glad too, that would have been awful to follow through on.