Daddy's Little Girl

     As a child I wanted to be like my daddy. I followed him around the house when he was home, helped him with chores, and even wore his boots. (I remember the boots because we have a picture of me wearing them. Most of my legs were enveloped in their rubber walls.) One day a Daddy inspired mishap happened during my bath.
     Like most children I did not like to get in the tub. I would run, hide, and even scream, but once I was in the water I was difficult to get out. My mother would leave me in the tub with my toys to play. She would come back and tell me to wash up. When I had covered myself in soap suds I would call mommy in to do my hair.
     One day as I made my dinosaurs swim through the "lake" they lived by I spied my mother's razor. I recalled seeing Daddy shave in the morning several times. I was immediately convinced that it was my father's razor. Remembering how Daddy did it, I moved the razor across my face without any mishaps. Then the inevitable occurred. I cut my lip. I called for Mommy to come. She must have noticed the tone of distress in my voice, for she came quicker than usual. By the time she appeared I was sobbing hysterically. She asked what had happened. I do not know why she had to ask, because I was bleeding and holding her razor. I said the first thing I could think of. I wanted to be like the breaded lady in the circus. I was bright enough to understand that if I shaved I would have no beard, thus not being a bearded lady. I was determined, however, not to let my mother know that I was trying to be like a boy.
     For years my mother knew only what I had told her. A few years ago I set her straight. I did notice, however, that shortly after the accident my mother had moved her razor out of reach. I have since learned that Daddy is a very dangerous game to play.