As promised, here's photographic evidence of our Night of Terror and Sorrow.

See, here's the thing. I've avoided bangs. We've avoided them. They can be fine, I suppose, but they give me a bit of the heebies. I'll say it's about avoiding even accidental resemblance to Suzie Wong (or even Anna May Wong, who inspired Edith Head's egregious hair), but that's not it, exactly (and seems a little pathological, even to me).

(Although AAAAAAAAAUGH! Sorry. I'm really not used to AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! I... I... I... I'm trying to get a grip. Breathe. OK.)

No, I think it's really because it always reminds me of Bettie Page.

And now, I live with a three-year-old Bettie Page.

(What was I saying about "pathological"? And to my gothabilly friends, I can only tender my aesthetic apologies. I think I was born this way.)

It only took a second, I'm told. Daughter wasn't even near the scissors when My Vexed Spouse left the kitchen. Daughter loves the scissors. She loves cutting paper. So, she was by the phone one minute, and the next, she was holding aloft her fuzzy trophy and smiling. "Look what I did!"

And then there was screaming and, as the classics say, dolor out of measure.

IT CAN HAPPEN TO YOU, PARENTS! STAY ON YOUR GUARD!!!

As you can see, she's snapped back rather rapidly. From the eyebrows down. Let us not look above that level, though, for the next three years.

And in other news, it just occurred to me during bathtime last night that son (son!)'s hair, when wet, has grown into a Dusty Rhodes mullet.

A mullet and bangs. They're going to take me to the barbershop jail, I just know it.

Now, I'm wondering if a pixie cut isn't the way forward.

Is it? Or is this just a subconscious desire for revenge??