Do not allow hot metal to touch the back of your neck ever again. It will singe the skin right off and that fucking hurts.
While I am excited to announce that styling short hair is a million times easier than dealing with my once-long locks, I sort of never had to hold a styling-iron-thing anywhere near the back of my neck until now.
Owwwwwwie.
*sniffle*
Current Mood:
Alarmed
My child sprouted a fang yesterday.
She’s been possessed by demons lately with this whole teething nonsense, and finally, her third tooth popped through. Except it wasn’t one of the top front teeth, it was one off to the side. A fang.
And in addition to her garbage-picking addiction, we found her under the kitchen table eating God-knows-what this morning. She inch-wormed her way over to her computer-obsessed parents, who were sitting at the kitchen table staring intently at their laptops, and fussed for a few seconds. And since her mom and dad were completely distracted by the internet world, she decided to take matters into own hands make herself happy.
A minute later, we realized she was too damn quiet, so James pulled his head away from the computer screen long enough to poke his head under the table and see what his daughter was up to.
She’d found the jackpot. All kind of crumbs that most likely fell from our 3-year-old’s plate sometime yesterday. And she was shoving them into her mouth faster than we could figure out exactly what the objects were.
She was really pissed when we pulled her off the floor and attempted to dig out whatever crap she was managing to hide in her mouth.
Little stinker tried to bury her fang into my finger.
Great. I just know she’s going to attempt to bite my nipple off now.
Current Mood: Alarmed