He told a lie.

Well, shit. Now what am I going to do?

I’m sure this wasn’t the first time he’s told me a non-truth, but this was a boldfaced lie. Just to get a new game on his iPhone.

What happened, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

So, yesterday, we had a snow day. Snow days have lost all meaning and excitement for us this winter and, truth be told (see? I tell the truth), we are pretty sick to death of each other. Anyway, early in the morning, the 9-year-old had asked to get a new game on his phone. We, the parents, are the keepers of the iTunes password (we’re no dummies), so, once I learned the game was free, I agreed to the purchase and entered the password.

A few hours later, he came back to ask for the password again.

Me (the phone was already on the password prompt, so I couldn’t clearly see what it was for): What is this for?
Him: The game from this morning.
Me: Didn’t I already get you that?
Him: Yes, but it didn’t work.

I had no reason not to believe him up until now. Besides, why lie about something so silly, right? So, I entered the password. Then the “are you sure you want to buy some silly game for $4.99, crazyperson??” notice popped up.

Me: WTF is this?? (Okay, no Fs were involved in this dialogue, but there should’ve been.)
Him: Aw, shit. Busted. (Okay, no swearing whatsoever took place here, but it makes the story more entertaining to me.)
Me (taking the phone from his grubby little hands – perhaps FOREVER): I can’t believe you would lie about something like this. You could’ve just asked me to get this $5 game. I would’ve said no, but you could’ve asked.
Him (running to his room): …

Sonofa.

Is this what happens at a certain age? I can still clearly remember one of the first times I was caught in a lie. I was 10 or 11. My friend was having a sleepover birthday party that night. For her birthday, I had gotten her the Whitney Houston “Whitney” cassette tape. Well, I didn’t like the plastic cover around it and wanted to take it off. My mother had told me not to – that it would no longer be new. I, of course, thought I knew better and took it off anyway. When she went to wrap the present, she saw what I had done. Dun dun DUN!

Her: Did you take off the wrapping?
Me (all shifty-eyed): NO.  (I was never a good liar.)
Her: Don’t lie. I know you’re lying. And because of that, you can’t go to the party.
(In retrospect, I was kind of an idiot. Of course, I did it. She knew I had wanted it off and SURPRISE! It was off. What could be only reason?)

Enter my brother.

Growing up, my older brother and I did not get along. I think there was a time when we did, but then there was definitely a time when we didn’t. And that lasted a looonnnngg time.

In our early years, his favorite pastime was to terrorize me and our younger brother. The guy gave me a concussion (I lost my sight!), for goodness’ sakes. Because he shoveled my driveway last night, I have finally decided to forgive him for that.

You’re welcome, Brother.

Anyway, while my mother was doling out my punishment, I could see my idiot brother laughing behind her.

And what did I do?

Me: HE did it! Look, Mom, he’s laughing! He just wanted to get me in trouble!

This threw my mother for a minute, I could tell. Now that I’m a mother, I can see that she wanted to believe me. It was almost impossible to believe my story, but, well, my brother was laughing, and, because he was such a jerk back then, it was possible he was screwing with me.

In the end, my mother let me go to the birthday. I’m sure I admitted to lying (I’ve blocked that part out), but she let me go anyway. I didn’t deserve it, but she’s a good mom.

And now that the 9-year-old has been caught in a lie, I’m at a loss. What if he’s been lying his entire life? What if he’s a big fat liar liar pants on fire? And will go on to become a sociopath, thief, and cheat? And end up in jail?? Am I ever to believe him again? Like when he blames the 6-year-old for breaking a Lego or my niece for being bossy? Am I going to question everything he says from now on?

Most importantly, will he ever get his phone back?? How else are we to entertain them on snow days???

See no evil, hair no evil

And the search for a hairstylist continues!

So, I got a haircut last week.  I had a coupon, I normally trust this place, so I took whomever was available. 

Let that be a lesson to me.

To be fair, she's very sweet.  She is funny, easy to talk to, and has the ability to make you feel comfortable right away... until she slashes your neck with her scissors.

It was all downhill from there.

It was, most likely, my fault.  I think she had made me laugh while she was cutting around my neck.  I jolted forward (as I sometimes do when I laugh) just as she was in a crucial spot.  She was inches away from my jugular.  I could've DIED.

Oh fine.  It wasn't that dramatic.

At any rate, I think because my near death experience freaked her out so badly, she stopped paying attention to what she was doing to me.  And, more importantly, to my hair.  After she spent the next 30 minutes apologizing and cutting, apologizing and cutting, apologizing and drying, I was sent on my way.  I thought it looked okay, but, then again, I didn't get a good look at the back.  I think she was trying to get rid of me pretty quickly.

I came home and looked at myself from all angles (a la shampoo commercial), and noticed that it looked like there was a big chunk cut out of the back of my head.  It could've been the new color, it could've been my cowlicks, but I was pretty sure it was cut wrong.  So, I made an appointment to get it fixed.

This is, unfortunately, becoming a regular occurrence for me.  I had to get a redo the last time I got a haircut, too.

I never thought I was freak about my hair.  I tend to make fun of my one friend who constantly obsesses about her hair.  But, it turns out I'm just like her. 

Gaaaaah!

So, 2 days later, I was back with the Slasher.  She was so glad I came back (probably wanted to make sure I hadn't bled to death / called a lawyer).  She cut and apologized, cut and apologized and I thought it looked okay by the end.  I was on my way out the door (again) when the manager came up to me.

Her:  Lea?
Me (thinking, should I know this person?):  Um, yeah?
Her:  Hi, my name is so-and-so.  I'm the manager.  I saw that you were a redo.  I've been watching her butcher cut your hair and yeah, even though you're not bleeding this time, it's still not right.  Do you have time for someone else to fix it?
Me:  Do I have to pay for this?  

Insert stylist #2.

I have never had anyone - not even Chad - take this much care to make sure my hair is even.  She was all up in my grill, making sure it was perfect.  I bet I beat the world record for longest breath holding in a single sitting.

2 stylists, 3 haircuts later, I'm alive to write about it.  To be honest, I don't think it looks much different than cut #2, but if the manager is happy, I'm happy.


I'm even more happy the problem is at the back of my head, which makes me conveniently forget all about it.