About The Doughnut

As always - The Cast of Characters

Me (The Daddy)
The Bean: Age 8
The Butterfly: Age 6
The Darling Wife

The Buffett Puppy

As I wrote in Ballet Hair, I am utterly useless when it comes to anything hair related.  All of my her fled my head prematurely (at least in my eyes), and the cool coif I used to wear is now about six inches short of a Comb Over.

That's right.  Even if I wanted a Comb Over, I couldn't grow one.

But still.

So, I wasn't exactly looking forward to Ballet Hair and Make Up Day at the Studio.

Where in my Daddying contract does it state, that I should learn how to put make up on my little angels?  Certainly, this falls in the Mommying category.

Yet still, there I am, sitting on the floor learning about bobby pins and rouge and covering up eye brows so that they can be drawn back in.

This doesn't make an awful lot of sense to me.  But then I'm a Daddy.  A lot of things don't make an awful lot of sense to me.

There are Ballet Doughnuts.  Two kinds it turns out.  Those that are rubber and those that are foam.  God help you if you buy the rubber kind.  Apparently, that causes Worst Hair Ever.  And seeing as how I have a head start on Worst Hair Ever, I'm a Foam Man.

The Butterfly is not so sure.  She raises her hand.  "About the doughnut," she asks.  "Can I see it?" she asks.

The doughnut is passed around the room.  To The Butterfly's disappointment, the doughnut has nothing to do with actual doughnuts.

Probably a good thing to.  I wouldn't want a Krispy Kreme in my hair.  Then again, I don't have any hair.

The Bean's class is entirely different.  It's about make up.

There are eyebrow pencils.  And rouge.  And mascara.  And eye shadow.  Everything needed to "tart up" my 8-year-old Bean.

I'll admit it.  I kind of glazed over this class.  Didn't pay attention much.  Entertained The Butterfly.  Basically, watched the clock.

The Bean loved the make up.  So she put on her own.  

Mascara.  Only Mascara.  All over her entire face.

"Do I look beautiful?" she asks.

"Not especially," I reply.

She pouts.  "Well, if you'd learn to do this, then I would not have tried myself."

Point made.  

But I'm still way in over my head.  And I don't even have any hair to shield the blow.