Living With a Nine-Year-Old Should Be Mandatory

Sidney and I were watching TV earlier tonight when she asked if she could style my hair. Unable to think of a reason why not, I said yes. During the thirty minutes that followed I sat on an ottoman in the middle of the living room while she walked circles around me with a spray bottle in one hand and a comb in the other. As she poked and prodded at the wet mess above my head we pretended that she was a famous stylist living in Los Angeles and hauling in a million dollars per day (she had a brand new mansion to pay for) and I was just a person that she was "fitting in" between her rich and famous clients who were all clamoring to see her because New York Fashion Week was happening soon and they needed to look their absolute best for the cameras.

Me: Are you allowed to tell me who your clients are?

Sid: Beyoncé, Meghan Trainor, Kanye, Jay-Z and the dad from Black-ish.

Me: Who else?

Sid: Prince.

A few seconds passed before she bent down and put her mouth close to my ear.

Sid (whispering): Let's pretend he's still alive.

Me: Oh wow, Prince. He must have really fun hair to do.

Sid: He does. I just picked up a bunch of new stuff for him at the Barber Expo.

Me: What kind of stuff?

Sid: Combs.

As things were wrapping up I thanked Sid for her work. Instead of a simple "You're welcome.", her response came in the form of a somewhat unrelated question.

"Wanna hear a rap I made up if my name was Joe?"

I nodded.

"Yo yo my name is Joe, / I got a flow that you never heard befo. / When I walk in the doe, / you don't know that I'm the center of the show. / I like Or-e-os. / I got a friend named Mose, / he's on The Office TV show. /
I'm from Tokyo. / Konnichiwa!"

"Nice job," I said. "I especially liked the word you threw in at the end."

"Thanks. It's Toky-an."