Look, my sons are young and don’t need to go to the spa to get a hair cut. They don’t need a hot towel or warmed oil on their hands (is that what fine barbers do? I don’t know.). In the past, my beef was with the hayseeds working at my local Great Clips. I penned what I felt an appropriate letter and sent it off regarding the crack horror like looks they had all achieved. You can read it here: My Letter To Great Clips.
C’s pictures were today so last night I used the Great Clips app to check in ahead of time. The app started with 23 minutes then down to 17. Things were progressing as planned. 4 minutes later I looked at my phone and we were up to 27 minutes. What the hell? I figured the app had a bug and the time was continuing to count down.
8 minutes later we were walking in. To my delight my theory must have been accurate because it was only us a twenty-something couple and their 2 small children running around in circles, chasing each other. The girl was in purple scrubs and the guy in a camo hat, t-shirt, jeans and boots.
“Carter no!” She screamed.
“Ah, that’s an adorable name. I know someone named Carter,” I said.
“Do they spell it C-A-R-T-E-R?” She asked.
“Mm-hm,” I said shaking my head.
“Oh see, we spell his K-A-R-T-E-R.”
“Like a go-kart?” I asked, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.
“We just wanted somethin’ different.” She responded.
Leave it to hayseed to screw up a nice name such as Carter. Only this WT would take a name and “billy” it up. Why do people feel the need to ruin names by using the wrong letter (and yeah, I’m saying it’s wrong) or adding extra shit on the end of it. A name is the 1 free leg up in life you can give your kid. Don’t screw it up because at this moment you really like what Kim Kardashian named her kid.
The endearing qualities of this little 2 year old- Karter, quickly vanished with the high pitch squeal he let out roughly every 3 minutes. I mean it could have shattered a wine glass. I cringed every time it went off AND he had a pacifier in his mout. Additionally, Karter, with K, and what seemed to be his 4 year old big sister (we will call her Kaley) were running around, all over the place as fast as they could. 30 seconds later, Karter somehow slides his little body under a chair and begins to wail.
By now C and I are mesmerized at what is happening in front of us. I’m sure our jaws were down to our waist. I looked up at the mom, back down at Karter laying flat under the chair and over to Kaley who had an “oh shit” look.
“Look at what happened!” WT Mommy Dearest barked at Kaley. “You were suppose to watch your brother. Now look what happened!” She yanked the toddler up from under the chair then the pacifier that had dropped from his mouth.
‘Ummmm I’m sorry, at what point were you not in the room and also, at what point did you feel a 4 year old is a good choice to care for a 2 year old?’
Our name had been called and we were taken back to the 2nd chair. For once the hairdresser didn’t have 30 piercings, 50 tattoos, a forked tongue or a combination of all of the above. A few minutes later Mommy Dearest is ushered to a seat behind us. Apparently she was there for her and not her kids. She was also going to allow her kids to hang out alone in the sitting area.
By now Karter is skipping from chair to chair, attempting to make a 1.5′ leap to the next set of chairs. He succeeds. Big sis is on the opposite side of chairs, jumping off like a bird. Karter sees this, thinks it looks fun and proceeds to follow. 5 minutes later Karter is running barefoot between the set of hairdresser chairs, occasionally squealing, attempting to summon dogs within a 4 mile radius.
I’m about to loose my shit at this point.
After 10 minutes of this nonsense the dad walked back in. For whatever reason he left this woman here thinking she was capable of child care. My assumption that this was the dad was quickly erased when Karter yelled, “Mauk” which I’m assuming meant Mark. Karter runs up to him and begins to punch his butt over and over again. Not to be ignored, Kaley stands up from laying on the hair covered floor to give Mark a swift punch in the arm. He doesn’t find this funny and taps her lightly on her shoulder, but too hard for her to hadle.
“Mommy,” Kaley whimpers, “Mark punched my arm.”
“I told ya’ you hit me a’gin, I’m gonna’ hit’cha right back,” boasts like knuckle dragger.
I just let out sigh and rolled my eyes forgetting the mirrors were back to back and praying they didn’t see my response. It was almost 8 and it was time to go.
As we checked out, the hairdresser leaned in and whispered, “thank you for putting up with the liveliness of this evening.”
“Well that’s a real PC way of putting it,” I said. “Those hot messes need to shut the hell up.” I said with a wink and a dum-dum sucker in my mouth.
Just to focus on the name thing, I feel the pain of the “unique” name. I used to hate my name but now I do kind of love it. My real name – you know it’s spelled weird. A friend posted this on Facebook a few days ago, you should watch it:
No but I’m talking about when this kid already has the odds stacked against him and his parent(s) just put another nail in the coffin. I like your name btw.
Maybe he will be one of those kids who, after growing up a little bit, realizes how messed up he’s going to be and just starts to parent himself since his real parents let him do whatever? Like what’s with hitting the girl cos she hit you? Put her in a time out or something but don’t hit her….
And thank you about my name! 🙂 I like it too!