I just got a haircut; it was only my second one since the Princess was born 10 months ago. Whoo hoo! Of course, she was fussy the entire time, but I celebrated and got an actual hairstyle, as opposed to just saying, "Chop off two inches, all the way around. Sure, use a bowl. Why not?" Of course, being the style maven that I am, I got a Rachel cut, which is approximately 12 years out of date, but it was still an improvement.
Because the Princess was fussing while I got all beautified, the stylist gave her a curling iron to play with. Not plugged in, not hot, just a plain old curling iron that was sitting on the table near her. She was having a ball waving it around and examining it.
Then this little old woman with freshly colored blue hair walked up to us and grabbed the curling iron out of her hands. As the Princess waved her arms for it, about to start shrieking at the loss of her new toy, the old woman spit at my stylist, "I saw the baby playing with this, and I was SO WORRIED! You know, she could wrap the cord around her neck and DIE!" She threw the curling iron on the table and stalked off, pausing only to shoot me an evil look, clearly thinking, "You're the worst mother ever, you neglectful cow."
She almost got that curling iron in a very unexpected spot, and I don't mean the flat area her stylist missed on the back of her bitchy, blue head.