“You got nice hair, Mummy. I think I will cut it.”
SOME loud bangs in the kitchen alerted me to the fact my wife was looking for something.
I don't like loud bangs, so I decided to offer my assistance.
"What are you after?"
She opened another drawer, pushed tea towels and oven mitts around and then slammed it shut, and then opened the one below it.
"Scissors," she said.
I sarcastically pointed them out to her and naturally, expected due thanks and praise.
It was not forthcoming.
"Derrr," she said, not even looking at me or them, and proceeded to check out the innards of another drawer. "I've already found those."
What was missing from this exchange was context.
Lying in our bed this morning, enjoying a lazy non-school week day slow start, fingers had started playing with my wife's hair.
"That's nice," Tracey mumbled.
"You got nice hair, Mummy," a small voice said. It was Miss 3. As usual, she'd made her way into out bed for cuddles.
"Thanks, darling," said Tracey.
"I think I will cut it."
It probably won't surprise you to learn Tracey opened an eye at this point, just to make sure there were no sharp implements in the bed. To her relief, all Miss 3 had were two fingers sticking out, pretending.
"Are you going to be a hairdresser when you grow up?" Tracey asked her.
"No," said Miss 3.
"I'm going to be one now." She jumped out of bed.
"I'll get the scissors."
No longer attempting to lounge about, Tracey shot a hand out and grabbed Miss 3 and pulled her back for a little chat about careers.
It's never too early.
"Only adults are allowed to cut hair," she told our daughter.
"Okay," Miss 3 said.
"I won't cut any big people's hair."
"Anyone's hair," insisted Tracey. "You won't cut anyone's hair. Only big people are allowed to cut hair with scissors. You can pretend with your fingers but you can't actually cut anything."
"That's right," agreed Miss 3.
"I'm not allowed."
Finally, thought Tracey.
"Only if they needs it."
Apparently this went on for a bit as Tracey tried to plug all the loopholes Miss 3 was attempting to exploit.
And while Tracey is fairly confident she got the message across, she's decided to take no chances, hence the 'egg hunt'.
And since I was lying beside Tracey through this entire conversation and didn't hear a single word - because I just don't wake up when kids come into the bedroom - I bleeding well joined her searching the house for as many pairs of scissors as we could find.