As you may have guessed, I did not plan Nathan’s haircut very well, both the execution and the removal of locks. As I stood horrified at what I had done and stared at my hands the way a person does it in the movies after he’s killed for the first time, there were dark brown hairs all over the bathroom rug. In my mad effort to hide the evidence (even though, hello Mona, the evidence is bald and rushing at you to refill his sippy cup), I lifted the rug carefully and carried to the balcony, where I shook my son’s hair remains over our yard. Only, the hair didn’t land on our yard, it landed right outside our fence on the sidewalk leading to our door.
I’m sure a normal person would have taken the time to rush downstairs and sweep up the mess before the postal worker arrived and concluded that everyone in our house is into Sinead O’Connor. But it was late, it was my turn to drop Nathan at daycare, it had started raining, and I had important tasks to complete, including breaking the news to my husband that I had turned our son into Susan Powter’s spawn.
And I just left the hair where it fell, next to our house, bothering no one.
When I got home, the hair was gone. Mike had swept it up that afternoon He asked me if I knew anything about the strange tufts he found on the ground.
“See?” He said, pointing at some of the strands. “Isn’t that weird?”
“Yeah, that’s completely weird. I don’t know who would do that.” LIE! I am a lying liar who lies! I don’t know why didn’t fess up right then. Maybe I was afraid that he would chide me again for cutting Nathan’s hair even after I relinquished my role as family barber. I guess I didn’t consider hair being that terrible a crime; our neighbor left a tire, a towel, and a plate of half-eaten enchiladas on the sidewalk for TWO DAYS and no one said anything. Another neighbor planted a lawn gnome in her garden. I know! What nerve!
The next day I let my husband wonder about the kind of person who cuts his hair in front of a stranger’s house. What kind of madman would leave that calling card? What kind of one fry short of a happy meal weirdo walks up to a fence and says, “This feels like a good place for a haircut.”
So cut to today when my husband, who has been spending his week off tidying the house and yard, called me at work and asked, “Guess who’s hair I found when I was cleaning out the gutter?”
“Um…Nathan’s?” I asked in my feigned innocence voice.
“Yes Nathan’s! You are so busted. I don’t even need CSI!”
So what lower-cased crimes have you been caught committing? Am I the only one?