She’s killing me, I tell ya.
My Little Cake Boss…
But now, it will have to be My Little Cake Boss…DIVA.
That’s right. My Little Cake Boss Diva.
After (manipulatively) maneuvering me over several weeks, she entrapped me into taking her and two friends on a shopping frenzy (for them, not me). My back ached for days. My fingers developed callouses from having to hold their bazillion shopping bags that weighed over a hundred pounds each.
But I am a slow learner. Yes, I am.
From about the time of the shopping frenzy, she had already begun her next manipulation.
Hindsight is always 100%, you know.
“Papa, don’t you think my hair looks nice? It’s really more bronze, yeah? Feel it.”
“Yes, its soft and bronze at the ends, just like Robyn’s (my oldest daughter),” I said.
She brought it up again…within a couple of days of the first.
“Papa, what did Robyn use to highlight her hair?”
WTF? Her mother (illegally) does hair. Why doesn’t she ask her? I said, “I don’t know.”
But I am a slow learner… or a real slow catcher-oner. (That’s supposed to be a word and it’s in Webster’s.) Perhaps dense is a better descriptive, especially when it comes to girl jabber. I mean, girl talk.
A few days later, “Papa, you know my hair is really a dark, bronze color… Do you think my hair would look better with lighter highlights or darker red highlights like Robyn had?”
But I played coy… I played dumb. But I texted Robyn so that I could be prepared. “What did you use to highlight your hair?”
“I used a Groupon deal,” she answered.
So I texted my USAF buddy’s wife, Ms. S. She’s a girlie girl. She should know.
“Oh, it’s really tricky to do it yourself. You should take her to get it done.”
The whole world is against me.
So on Sunday, April 12th (three days before income tax returns are due), I tell her in the morning, “Oooookay, Bu-chan… Let’s go get your hair highlighted.”
You should have seen her face light up. It was as if Little Miss Energy got plugged into a 220v socket. For the first time in her life, she got into the car…somewhat quickly. Who am I kidding? She took 20 minutes. She had to change and brush her hair…and get her iPhone, of course.
I take her to this salon nearby that the gals have told me about. I drive up. It’s closed. WTF?
So we drove across the street to this fancy-schmancy place the WOMEN tell me about (i.e., $$$). It was a little past 10 am so I was hoping to get her a walk-in. Parked out in front and the sign said OPEN. Well, it was not. What’s with these women places??! Barbershops are open on Sunday!
So the Little Cake Boss Diva gets on her phone and says there’s a salon open. I never ask her to tell me where some place is because 30 miles is down the block to her. Luckily, it was about 15 minutes away. She calls but the line’s busy. We go anyways.
Well, they were booked up solid… She looked kinda sad but I knew of this one other place next to Yum-Yum Donuts that was for sure open…and it was close to the house.
We get there. They take her.
She sits in the chair. Out comes her iPhone. Selfie time, I guess.
I think she was a most happy camper.
She manipulated me again, hasn’t she?
But I am glad she wanted to manipulate me.