This is today’s short weird thought. I’ve had three children. They were all boys. I have decided today that the reason that they were all boys is because nature knows that I don’t have any hairdressing talent.

I hope I don’t get a backlash of ‘don’t be so sexist!’ comments now. Please don’t. I’m not trying to be sexist. Boys, of course, sometimes prefer longer locks to shorter locks. Girls, of course, sometimes prefer shorter locks to longer locks (I did). However, percentage-wise, in the general population, not many boys like to sport bows, plaits, French plaits, Dutch plaits, English plaits, ponytails or buns. Some do, I don’t doubt that, but not many. My three boys have favoured short hair for most of their short lives to date. Two of them had lovely shaggy locks as toddlers (and looked adorable). But as they have matured, they have preferred to keep their hair short. I haven’t had to do anything to their hair over the years.

Back to the reason for this thought about nature and hairdressing skills. Last night I babysat overnight for two friends who have four girls (two sets of twins). I’m not used to looking after girls. Again, I’m not trying to be sexist. But all four of these girls have long hair. The eldest two are self-caring. So their hair was not an issue. The youngest two twins, aren’t. That was an issue. This morning I was tasked with ‘preparing their hair’ before dropping them off at school. There are three reasons why this task featured largely in my consciousness.

Firstly, the anticipation of this task brought me a low-level anxiety. Not enough anxiety to register on the anxiety scale but more than chilled with chocolate. Secondly, having me as a novelty babysitter meant that the two girls both had quite high expectations of what they could get away with hair-wise (one twin asked for two side plaits, the other requested one side plait, one side ponytail and a bun on the top with two bows). Thirdly, I’m not used to dressing hair. Mine is bobbed, it’s low maintenance.

When morning came, and everyone had been fed and dressed, I could not put off the task any longer, I had to ‘prepare the hair’. This task took me two attempts with one twin, and one with the other. We needed multiple hairbands, brushes, mirrors and bows. It took about 15 minutes I think all in all.

The result? Disaster. Utter disaster (in my opinion at least, they were happy). They both looked pretty odd. I’m hoping that the school, and their parents, will forgive me later. I’m currently lying low in Wolverhampton.

What I aspire to

So my struggles this morning had my neurons chundering over this topic as I drove to Wolverhampton after throwing the girls at education. Despite being an artist, am I just no good at hair? Are my creative talents firmly stuck in paint, pen and video? I think there is truth in this. I don’t like fiddling with hair, I don’t know why. There’s so much of it. It gets tangled. It catches in my rings. It doesn’t do as it is told. I just don’t like hair. It’s messy. It falls out. I’m clumsy. I’m inpatient. I’m not neat. All those things are not conducive to nice, tidy hair. If I am no good at hair, then is that the reason that nature gave me three boys? Yes. I think so.

I have sometimes longed for a girl-child of my own but in actual fact, I’m happy with my three boys. They are mine. I love them dearly, short hair and all.

My three boys