God, I Miss My Hair Stylist
A few days ago, the woman who cuts Hugh’s hair graciously agreed to cut the Man-Cub’s hair. We hadn’t had it cut in quite some time and he was rocking a pretty good skater vibe which is all fine and dandy except; wrestling season starts soon and having Jesus-locks might allow his opponents to get a good grip. Needless to say; it was time for a cut.
Unfortunately, I was absent during the actual appointment and, when the Man-Cub pleaded for some length, Hugh compromised by instructing the poor woman to cut the front and top but to leave some length in the back, resulting in….a mullet.
Ok, maybe not a full-on NASCAR mullet but, still; not a look I would have approved had I been there. Luckily, my own recent struggles with an outgrown style have made me quite adept at fashioning a passable style from an unfortunate haircut and, with a bit of gel pilfered from Hugh’s cabinet, we wrestled the Cub’s hair into…a much nicer mullet.
Not a miracle worker here, people.
Once I get off my lazy ass and find a new stylist, we will remedy the hillbilly hair situation, in the meantime, I have given the Cub permission to chew tobacco, drink cheap beer and to date his cousins.
I did, however, draw the line at letting him put the front porch up on cinderblocks; we sported that look during the Remodel from Hell and I just can’t bring myself to go there, again.