Finally unable to stand it any longer, I called a nearby salon and scheduled an appointment for this evening to get my hair trimmed up and hopefully back under control. While I was chit-chatting with my stylist as she went to town on my hair, a mother came in with three kids all under the age of 10. After describing in great detail how she wanted her eldest son’s hair cut to the lone male stylist, she disappeared with her stylist to the washing area. A few short minutes later her youngest, the most adorable lil girl with red hair, pigtails, and glasses, realized her mother had disappeared and started to panic. I watched the scene quickly unfold behind me through the mirror in front of me and was quite surprised when out of the no where the small girl started running toward me. In what seemed like an hour but was less than two seconds, she was hugging me and burying her head in my side with a sigh of relief. Eventually, she looked up at me as I was looking down at her in surprise. A look of pure terror overtook her face as she screamed at me (and half of Northern Arizona), “You’re not my mommy!” Apparently, I must have looked like her mom from behind, and in her panic, she had mistaken me for her. The rest of the stylists and patrons of the salon had a good laugh as her mother came around the corner to see who was harassing her daughter. Luckily, her son’s stylist explained before I could be accused of any wrongdoing, and the mother politely apologized for any embarrassment I might have endured. Even though I was the molestee, I have a feeling I won’t be going back there any time soon.