I hate having a little girl.
Ok, maybe that sounds harsh. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter. She is my angel and fills up every ounce of space I have in my heart.
But that doesn’t mean that I like dealing with all the extra stuff that comes with having a four-year-old daughter. It’s complicated and confusing and leaves me scratching my head because they don’t teach this shit in dad school.
Case in point: my daughter’s hair. it’s long and pretty and blonde and the most terrifying thing I can think of. On occasion I will try to give her a bath and her hair will end up in so many tangles and snarls that her head ends up looking like the clog I pull out of the tub drain every couple of months.
This fear of hair came back to haunt me today when I had the day off and thus drew the short straw as far as taking her to gymnastics. I’ve never taken her there before but figured having her in class for an hour would at least give me a chance to catch up on my Twitter feed.
The only problem is that right before my wife left for work she reminded me that I had to put my daughter’s hair up before class. And like any reasonable husband/father I responded appropriately.
“Well, I’m not taking her then.”
Yep, I detest the thought of pig tails or pony tails or whatever other tails there are that I was willing to just have her skip a class we paid like $200 for.
“That’s silly,” my wife replied. “You’ll be fine.”
And you know what? My wife was totally and undeniably wrong.
The first problem was that she gave me this baggie full of these stupid, tiny little rubber bands that aren’t actually rubber bands per se, but just tiny little circles that snap any time you try to stretch them. They’re more like brittle bands. As we speak there are over two dozen of them broken and spread around the living room floor waiting for my dog to eat them and then puke it up on the carpet.
When I was finally able to get one to stretch without breaking it, I’d end up getting about 27 hairs in it while leaving most of her hair still dangling in her face while I ripped follicles out of her head fumbling while trying to tie it up. She spent most of the time crying because I’d pull her hair and at one point I’m pretty sure she said, “Son of a bitch, dad, that hurts.”
Eventually I gave up the traditional route and followed the path I saw on a Facebook video by grabbing the vacuum and sucking her hair into it in an attempt to put it in a pony tail. The only problem is that the stupid little God damn bands weren’t big enough to stretch around the nozzle causing me to break about 300 more. To make matters worse, in my frustration I actually ended up sucking the entire bag of rubber bands into the vacuum cleaner and subsequently had to pick them out of the dog-hair-filled canister after. I also think I may have drawn blood when I sucked up a little too much hair and got close enough to her skull to scalp her.
I shit you not that I messed with my daughter’s hair for 25 minutes and the best I could do when it was all done is create a pony tail that looked like it came from a horse with mange that needed to be put down.
As you’d imagine we arrived to gymnastics late and she runs into the class while I sit in the “waiting” room with a bunch of moms that have their daughters all dolled up like they’re going to appear on that show with Honey Boo Boo. Meanwhile my daughter looks like she just got off an episode of Cops. When she walked into the gym she actually asked the teacher if she could bum some smokes off her.
But the most embarrassing part of the whole escapade is when the teacher was going around in a circle talking to the girls. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like each was basically talking about how their day was going.
When the teacher gets to my daughter. she points to her head, says something, and then the teacher laughs and looks out to me. I’m no lip reader, but you don’t have to be one to tell what she said:
“He used a vacuum?”
Needless to say, when she becomes a teenager and starts having to deal with teenager things, I’m going to suggest to my wife that I’m no longer allowed to parent her.
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