Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

If you are a hairstylist, read at your own risk.

There are times in my life when I am grossly over confident. This is one of those times.

My 4-year-old girl’s hair was looking rough. Since quarantine began in March, her hair growth problems were the least of my worries, but, one recent slow Sunday, I decided that her upside down triangle blonde mess needed a fixing.

After five long months, I picked a Sunday at 4 p.m. to decide that it absolutely, no question about it, needed to be cut immediately.

Every time I looked at it that day, I had to turn away in disgust, which makes me sad, because she’s my sweet daughter and I love her.

As my first option, I dialed Sharkey’s haircuts for kids and asked the obvious question, semi-confidently, “Do you take walk-ins, or is it appointment only?” Their response of course was “No, not with the new precautions.”

So, silly me, I continued, not so confidently, and this time with the complete tone of embarrassment “Well, do you have any openings today?”

The dreaded response, “Ma’am, we close at 5.”

I took a deep breath and shook off the fact that she called me ma’am — 36 is not ma’am age, right?

I had to move on to plan B, which was me. I could cut her hair.

I mean, why not me? She’s just 4. It’s not like it matters that much.

If I mess it up, I can take her to a professional to get it fixed. Or, maybe the opposite will be true and I’ll do an awesome job and start a side gig.

I totally hyped myself up. In fact, I got excited at the whole prospect of it.

Yes, I would do it. I just had to run it by my husband.

“You’re sure? Like, sure, sure?” He looked a little dumbfounded, or maybe impressed at the sheer size of my confidence. I’ll go with the latter.

He can always tell when my mind is made up. Not surprisingly, my mind is always made up, and he just deals with it.

After a quick explanation of how qualified I felt (I watched a six-minute YouTube video; YouTube can teach you anything) with a deep breath and grin, he responded with trepidation, “Well, OK.”

My daughter was all about it.

“Sure, Mom, you can cut my hair.”

So, I prepped by setting a stool outside, grabbing a brush, some 10-year-old scissors with just a smidgen of rust at the hinges and a hair dryer.

I took the kid to the bathtub and had her sit on the edge, leaning her head back like we do at the stylist station to give it a good wash. The water soaked her clothes, as physics would suggest, but no matter, I shook that mistake off and continued on.

A change to dry clothes later, she was sitting on the stool. After a quick figuring out how to hold a comb and scissors at the same time, I went in for my first cut.

Expecting that clean snip, I pushed the scissors together, and no. Not a clean break.

I tried again, nope. My scissors didn’t work.

Now, I know what you are thinking. She realized her decision was dumb and she took her kid to the stylist the next day. We’ll you’re wrong. I was in too deep to give up. My gigantic ego had absolutely nothing to do with it.

A quick jump in the car and a trip to Walgreens had me ready to try again.

Did you know they sell barber scissors at Walgreens? Well, they do.

After a few snip, snip, snips, and with my knowledge of hair styling from YouTube, I had cut four inches off.

I may or may not have had to take a break for a bloody finger (those scissors are sharp!) but her hair was no longer a triangle shape, it was a cute little bob. I had done it; victory is mine!

Although I’ll most likely be taking her to the stylist from this point forward, I gave my daughter a memory.

You know, that time my Mom pretended to be a hairstylist and bled all over the porch. But no worries, the rain washed it away; so it’s all OK.

Now, anytime someone comments on her adorable little style, I can ever so coolly respond, “Well, I tried my best.”