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Candy's Column

Hairgate

There are a few simple rules I expect daycare to follow:  watch my child; do not hurt my child; empty my child’s diaper every so often; keep my child off porn sites (at least the ones involving goats or any Kardashian sisters or both); and, most importantly of all, do not, under any circumstances, CUT MY CHILD’S HAIR.

Oops.

Behold the unwanted choppy bang trim courtesy of daycare — not that they’re fessing up to it, of course.  So I guess her bangs just miraculously cut themselves. Amazing!

Grrrrrr.

Granted, Skye’s bangs were getting long, but that was a positive development because I could almost put a barrette in them — a new style option that made me overwhelmingly giddy.  So not only has Skye’s self-appointed mystery stylist deprived me of experiencing my daughter’s first haircut, but she has also deprived me of ACCESSORIZING MY DAUGHTER WITH FABULOUS, SPARKLY BARRETTES.

I haven’t been this upset since McDonald’s refused to let me walk through the drive-thru to order a crispy chicken sandwich.  Yes, alcohol may have been involved.

After I asked Skye’s primary teachers about the mystery cut — I don’t think it was either of them; Detective Candy suspects it was one of the afternoon assistants who would always slather Skye’s hair with gel and slick it back, as though she were a member of Arthur Fonzarelli’s old street gang — the director of the school called and “assured” me that none of her teachers would do such a thing, nor would they let any of the other children run around with scissors and play Vidal Sassoon.

“But I did notice her hair was shorter,” she admitted.

“Uh, YEAH,” I replied with my usual eloquence.

So I did the only thing I could in this bizarre and frustrating situation:  asked Skye who cut her hair.

“Kitty!” she exclaimed, as she responds to most all questions.

Ah-HA!  I should have known it was Marcy; her not-so-subtle way of exacting revenge for tormenting her with yet another bully — accomplished with no opposable thumbs, no less.  Well-played, Marcy.  Well-played, indeed.

Oh, and did I mention…?  Grrrrrr.

Because sharing is caring, as I tell my kids. (Except my wine. Never my wine.)
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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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