Steve left this morning to get his hair cut. In the past he has always bravely (as I say) sauntered into a 'Great Clips' or 'Cost Cutters' or some other place that minimally requires a 4 hour video course certification and your word that you haven't killed anyone in the past 6 months, most specifically with scissors. He usually goes on a Saturday morning, right when they open. He walks in, puts in his name, asks the wait, and if it's longer than 20 minutes...he bolts. Too much precious time waiting reading hair magazines and staring at all the other waiting men's shoes. Maybe if the odds of him getting the cute girl he might up the allowed time to 25 minutes, but that's pushing it. He has to weigh the perks (no pun intended), is it worth the extra wait to be able to legally stare at voluptuousness as she cuts the front of his hair. And what if he gets sweaty, stinky hair grease dude instead. Hmmmmm, what a decision. Should he take the chance?
His pre hair cutting ritual- he has to take a shower before going, let the earth spin off its axis if he actually has to pay extra for them to wash his hair. And, he has informed me that no man, no respectable man, would ask to have his hair washed before cutting. Apparently that is absolutely ridiculous.
Well, since moving to the greater Northwest, our lives have changed in many ways.
-I've been sick for almost the entire 4 months.
-Cailin has found a friend next store that likes to yell "F!!! off" towards her through our sliding glass door when he doesn't get his way.
-Our kids wont go to bed until 10pm because the sun is as bright as it is at noon.
-And the jumbles in the newspaper are amazing.
But, the biggest change...okay not the biggest but a pretty good perk. Steve has actually started going to an actual hairdresser. Yes, you read correctly, not a person wielding scissors who can somewhat cut a straight line. An actual person who went to school, knows about thinning hair, razor cutting and washes and massages, no extra charge.
But today, he came home, and guess what she had done? She trimmed, she tamed the webs of wiry hair that pertruded off of his brow, right above his eyes. Some people call them eyebrows. Steve's had gone beyond that description. They, at any moment could have reached out and attacked. "They"? Well, actually "It" because it was slightly connected in the middle (I won't use the dreaded word) but I would find myself gently pulling one or two small hairs from the middle as he was in his deepest sleep. (He has no idea, shhhhh). I am so excited!!! His crazy, dark, bushy, loooong, untamed brows, have been tamed. So handsome!!! Now if we could only get him to a cosmetic podiatrist. (Is there such a thing?)
Things you thought you would never have to say to or about your children...
"Avrie, dont kick the squirrel, it could bite you"
"I think Avrie just fell off the dining room table...again"
"Stop playing with the electrical outlets"
"You have to take off your clothes before taking a shower"
"Please stop playing with my moles!!!"