I’m A Slow Motion Accident

I’m starting to get a little annoyed with the 30 day blogging challenge I started.  When I first found it on Pinterest, I was excited because it didn’t ask a bunch of the same old “What do you have in your purse?” kind of questions you typically see in these kinds of challenges.  But I guess I didn’t read everything that carefully in the beginning because as I go down the list, I find myself thinking that a lot of the topics are kind of lame.

This week, for example, I’m supposed to share things I want to say to an ex.

On June 2nd, Eric and I will be celebrating 7 years together.  Obviously that means that all of my other relationships ended quite a while ago.  At this point, then, I think everything that needs to be said has been said already.  I mean, each of those relationships ended for a reason … And those reasons don’t really matter anymore.  I’m not totally heartless or anything.  I’ve just (obviously) moved on with my life, and I’m sure they have as well.

So this week I’ll be writing about something else.  I haven’t done a “Blast from the past” post in quite a while (since August!), so I’ve decided to share a funny anecdote from my younger years.  

This week’s blast from the past post: The pigtail incident

When I was in first grade, my mom often put my hair in pigtails for school.  I wish I had a picture of myself from that time period available to give an accurate visual, but it looked something like this:

Image

Again, this is not me (though that’s probably obvious).  I thought this picture was cute, though, and my hair was about that length and about that thick at the time of this story.  Image courtesy of djuqyguns.blogspot.com.

I was sitting in front of a boy in class one day, minding my own business.  Suddenly, I heard a noise … Kind of a “snip.”  

Yeah … He cut my hair.  In class.

To make matters worse, he cut a few inches off of only one pigtail.  So there I was, lopsided for a day.  I’m pretty sure I cried at some point because, you know, he cut my hair in class.  (Plus, I was only 6 years old … So it was pretty traumatic!)

As soon as the teacher realized what had happened, he got in trouble.  She also swept up the hair he cut off and put it in a plastic Ziploc bag for him to take home (along with a note to his mother explaining what happened).  I have no idea if he actually took it home or not (or if his mom ever saw the sad clump of hair), but it made me feel a little better at the time.

I had to have my hair evened out later, of course.  It sucked at the time, but at least it gives me a funny story to share now!

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