Sixty percent of the family got a haircut toady.
Kevin had a mohawk for about, oh, two minutes. It was a good look on him, but no so practical in this summertime humidity.
Lucy begged and begged and begged to have the clippers used on her head, on the tinist little shortest baby little greenest setting ever. (Her words. Kind of.) So, I trimmed her bangs and buzzed a little bit under her hair. She was placated.
And the third family member with a new 'do? Me! It had been an embarrassing while since my last haircut, and since my disposable time* is quite short, I let Kevin do it for me. Talk about marital trust. I'm quite pleased with the results, even if this conversation did follow his first snip.
Kevin: (sensing my unease at his first, awkward snip) It won't be even. You don't need it to be perfect, do you?
Me: There's a big difference between "perfect" and "even." I don't need it to be perfect, but it should be even.
I've given Kevin plenty of bad haircuts over the years, so I'm just thankful he didn't take the opportunity for a little scissor-revenge.
*Who wants to spend a hour making idle chit-chat with a woman who snips each hair into perfection, just to have me pull it back into a ponytail the moment I leave the salon? Gah!
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