Every so often in life there is that moment when your stomach sinks and realization waxes bright as it dawns on you that what you just did can't be undone. First you feel sick, then ridiculously stupid, and then finally, just as the self deprecation is easing up, the depression settles in as you reconcile yourself with the irrevocable consequences of what just happened. The "oops" moment. Trivial and, in the scheme of eternity, inconsequential as it may be, it is still rough on the psyche and difficult to digest. You know you must move on, but all you can dream about is a time machine that could take you back to that brain freeze moment, with the express purpose of injecting a little common sense into your thick headed skull.
On Wednesday, I became reacquainted with that moment.
As the evidence shows, I wielded a pair of scissors with reckless disregard to the consequences, shearing my child and leaving her looking like a very pretty little boy.
Why? That's the logical question, but the one for which I have no answers.
How do I feel? Let's just put it this way. The knowledge that hair grows has only partially alleviated my regret.
Such are the little vicissitudes of life.