Help!!! My Lesbian Haired Daughter is Trying To Kill Me!!!

So anyways, having kids is great. Especially when they do unauthorized modifications of their appearance. I bring this up because as you may have read in my last blog, Liesi went all Sweeney Todd on herself and fashioned herself a pretty sick style that was one part Mullet, one part mange and one part rooster (That red streak DID look pretty bitching, to be completely honest). So, what did Laura and I do? Well, like any good parents, we brought her to the local Supercuts where she could be the object of ridicule for a "trained beauty professional" working for minimum wage. After some gentle ribbing from the salon staffer, Liesi was in the chair and ready to get her trim.

And when it was all said and done, she didn't come out looking that bad.

In fact, it's a fairly popular look. The "Pixie" look's been around for years, or uh... So some of my friends who know the names of women's hairstyles tell me.




Unfortunately that haircut is often readily mistaken for another follicular trend with some rather unfortunate implications.



Just to make sure I'm covered on both ends, I've purchased ballerina slippers, Birkenstocks, tutus, flannel shirts, and DVD'S of both The "Nutcracker on Ice" AND the "Best of the WNBA". The look I got from the cashier at Walmart for this eclectic order was almost worth the exorbitant price of said goods.

But, God help me, I like the new look. It's short, it's spunky, it doesn't get into her mouth when she eats. But, the down side of it, is that now she looks almost completely like me when I was a child. And wouldn't you know it, her personality is already starting to turn that way too. On the car ride home, she regaled us with a twenty minute song about how much she loves the sunshine... It was pitch black at the time. She also keeps reminding me ad nauseum that her friends are coming to her birthday party this weekend. Her birthday is in July. And even though she may suspect that it's starting to creep me out, or maybe because of the fact, she keeps referencing that her brother is coming to visit.

A brother who doesn't exist.

A brother who couldn't exist.

Or can he???

It's weird. I know that she's just fucking with me, but every night I lock the door, and sleep with a cross under my pillow. Because if I've learned anything from horror movies, it's this; Whenever a kid references an imaginary playmate or a sibling that doesn't exist, it usually ends up being the ghost of some seriously mentally fucked up kid who wrecks the shit of pretty much every main cast member. Me? I'm not taking any chances. You'll find me most nights, cowering on my sofa, surrounded by a circle of salt, open bible in my hand and a watchful eye on any suspicious shadows.
Sometimes, I just think that she does things just to mess with me, just to see my reaction. And I know what you're going to say... I already know it. "But, Matt... She's just a kid. How could she possibly have the ability to reach into your brain, jumble around and pull out the nightmare fuel within?" I don't know HOW she does it. Most of the time, she's a perfectly sweet little angel. A pleasure to be around. Maybe a little rambunctious, but that's to be expected.

Recently, Laura's Mom bought Liesi a dollhouse. One of those nice wooden ones, where the furniture can all be swapped out and placed in any room. I'll usually sit down on the couch, read a book and casually glance over as Liesi will meticulously play for hours, arranging rooms and you know, really Feng Shui-ing the crap out of that place. One day, I crawled over to actually take a look. Immediately, I had to laugh. In the middle of the living room, the doll indicating the father was sitting down watching TV... On the toilet.

Now, even I had to marvel at her perception. Does this kid know me or what? Were it possible or even remotely socially acceptable, I'd have installed a commode in the middle of the living room years ago. Think about it... Cushioned seat... Pajamas with a backflap... Privacy cover... Bidet jets cleaning out your orifices with the help of a leprechaun armed with a squeegee... I mean, something like this....




Now, I'm not saying that the good Professor ever enslaved a tiny Irish midget to do his, uh, dirty work. But, I'm not arguing against it either. I don't know. I wasn't there. Thankfully, I was never there. Back to the point, as I looked around the mock living room, I noticed a definite lack of any sinks or water fixtures anywhere. This is the conversation that took place next:

[Liesi] Do you love it, Daddy?

[Me] It's nice, Liesi... But-

[Liesi] But, what?

[Me] But, the toilet? It shouldn't be here. It shouldn't be in the living room. It should be in the bathroom. You know what else should be in the bathroom? The sink. Instead it's in the attic. And the shower, now you and I both that it doesn't belong in the front hall. Other than that, great job. Can't wait till you design MY new house.

And I figured that THAT would be THAT. I went back to my book and let Liesi play until it was time for her bath, which in case you're wondering, took place in the bathroom. I also put her on the toilet and had her wash her hands in the sink. Guess what? One stop shopping, kid. All conveniently located in one room. And yeah, true to my form, I was a little cocky about it. But, I figured that she'd forget about it by the next morning. I mean, what kind of three year old bears a grudge over dollhouse decorating tips?

Oh, was I wrong.

The next day, sure as the sun rises in the east, Liesi was back at her dollhouse. I continued to read my book ("Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman and Terry Goodkind) as Liesi diligently went back to mocking everything that Good Homes and Gardens stands for. Finally, after twenty minutes of hard work, Liesi stood up, patted her hands on her dungaroos and proclaimed;

[Liesi] DONE!!! Come and see!!

I nodded politely, dogeared the page of my book that I was reading and crawled over. What I saw shocked and horrified me. It chilled me to the very core of my soul. Liesi had removed the stairs from the attic. She'd found tape and an old playing card and had BOARDED UP the only exit to the attic. Crouched over the sink in the attic was the Daddy doll. And I can't say for certain, but it looked like he had a pained look on his face. The look of a man damned for all time. My daughter... My precious three and a half year old baby... Had built an oubliette. For those not familiar with the term, an oubliette is what is known as a "forgotten place" in the history of French dungeonery. People would be boarded up and left to die. My daughter... My sweet, lesbian haired daughter, had condemned the Daddy doll to a slow, starving torturous death. When I asked her;

[Me] Why, Liesi? Why is Daddy in the dungeon?

She turned to me, no emotion visible on her face and simply stated.

[Liesi] Because he was bad.

Chills, people... Chills down my spine. I mean, where does a child even learn to do such a thing?




Yeah... She's MY kid, alright.