A good story I heard at work. You know how it is. Every once in a while someone tells you a story at work.

It’s your classic gathering of friends with small children. The evening progresses, everyone’s been fed (changed if necessary), you’re sitting on the couch, leaning back, when someone interrupts someone else’s brag with the line, “Have you seen the kids lately?”


Everyone stands up and starts searching. There’s no need for everyone to look; nevertheless, everyone must look. Search, search, search. Nope, no kids here. Hm, hm, hm. Are they in the upstairs bathroom–oops, sorry! To the left, to the right, not in the bedroom…whups. Why is the craft room door shut?

Your heart stops. There are sharp objects in there. Right now, someone could be poking an eye out.

One of the mothers–the bravest one–opens the door.


Yes, that’s right. It’s worse than an eye out.

Another of the mothers steps in, panicking.

“Mary!* What have you done!”

One of the fathers steps in.

“Well, that’s just hideous.”

Mary, the three and a half year old, has…cut the one and a half year old’s hair. With scissors.

The parents are freaking out, the friends are all yelling, and the two little girls (as well as another little boy who was just sitting there, saying, “You’re going to get in trou-ble” the entire time) are getting complexes.

I said, “But nobody got their eye poked out, right?”

She said, “Nope. And I got pictures.” Then she giggled.

*Names have been changed to protect the preschoolers.

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