At the age of four, my son got a haircut that cost $100. That was over 20 years ago, which means on today’s monetary scale it would be much more. What I am about to tell you is the bloody truth, as the Brits like to say.
It happened because David would not stand for going to my regular salon to have my stylist, John, cut his hair. It was embarrassing and frustrating that my sweet little boy pitched a hissy fit. He covered up his head with his arms when John came close with scissors in hand. We left with no haircut.
Finally I had had enough of his shaggy hair. One night after dinner, I set David on a booster seat on a kitchen chair, put a towel around his neck, and turned on one of his favorite videos, a ploy I used to distract his attention. Then, I stood behind him and started snipping away. The top and back were easy, but the tricky part was trimming around the ears. I had to work fast before David got fidgety, annoyed, and had another hissy fit.
Snip, snip, snip. Fast, faster, faster still. Yikes! Holy cow! I cut off the tip of his ear! Just a smidgen, but enough to bleed like a small hole in a boat with nothing to plug it up. I found out from this experience that the human ear has hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny capillaries. After the bleeding went on for over 30 minutes, my husband and I decided a trip to the Emergency Room was necessary. We grabbed David and a clean towel to blot the blood and were on our way. By the time we saw the ER doctor, it was past David’s bedtime. While the doctor stitched up his ear, David lay on the examining table and fell asleep. It took 8 stitches to close the wound.
Luckily, we had insurance so we put the co-pay of $100 on the credit card and left. I imagined without insurance, the cost for that haircut would have been much more.
When we returned home, we found that our daughter was back from an outing out with friends. I apologized for not leaving her a note telling her where we were. I explained that we left in such a hurry and yada, yada, yada. She stopped me and said, “Mom, you didn’t need to leave a note. I knew exactly where you were.”
Then, I looked over at the evidence: bloody towel and washcloth, hair clippings, kitchen chair and booster seat, and scissors.
The good news is that it was the last time I had to cut David’s hair. After that, he was more than happy to go to the salon and let John cut it.
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