Sisters in Cahoots

I stopped dead in my tracks, eyes wide, as I took in the sight of my four-year-old daughter, hair hacked off just below her jaw line with stray remnants of her beautiful long golden brown locks hanging as strings that she had missed with the scissors.  “Oh, Maggie, your hair!” I wanted to cry.  “Sorry, Mama,” was all she said.  Hazel eyes looked into mine.  I read them clearly, expectation, a hint of fear, and a challenge.  Would I bring her along on Serrah’s  third birthday outing to the hair dresser and out for ice cream?  I had no choice.  “I wanted a haircut too,” Maggie’s usually boisterous voice was lowered to a hoarse whisper.  “I can see that.  What am I going to do with you?  Maggie Ann, you know better.”  It would seem her dubious plan was hatched.  I shook my head in disbelief, “Alright, girls, get your…