The boy and the beast

My husband I took our sweet two year old boy to get a haircut this evening. Prior to entering the salon, he ate his favorite meal, walked out of shoe store proudly clutching a bag holding his new pair of sneakers and was the happiest little guy in the world.

Upon entering the salon he was immediately drawn to the hair tonic area. Euphoria was not obtained until all the neatly aligned bottles of product were sprawled out on the floor. He was clapping and laughing with devilish delight every time one of those $20.00 bottle of elixirs toppled over. I should have run while I had the chance. Before I could grab his tiny hand a women (who seemed slightly intimidated) called his name. He gingerly walked to the chair and seemed content to sit in the booster seat. Then it happened. His face turned purple, eyes bulged out of his head, face contorted, arms and legs started flailing about, and the monster inside reared its ugly head. As if this display was not enough, he had to vocalize his objections. A guttural scream immersed and then a high pitched shrill. This shrieking was sound enough to break glass. The hairdressers ears started dribbling blood, her calm demeanor instantly changed. She had a look of terror in her eyes. To her credit, she expertly cut and buzzed the beasts fur.

When the strange women with the scissors (our hero, Xena of the cuttery) finally slaughtered the wilder beast; it retreated. In his place was a smiling happy little boy. He looked up at the hair dresser with his beautiful, liquid blue eyes, gave her a heart melting smile and said “thank you!”