She is a fabulous hair stylist. And not just with women, but she is a fabulous hair stylist for men too (although, I've heard rumors that men prefer the person who takes care of their hair cutting needs to be referred to as a barber. Not sure if this is true or not). She worked for many years as a hair stylist and all of her boys - including my father-in-law - were most definitely spoiled because of this.
Here's the thing about me:
I am not a fabulous hair stylist. Actually, I imagine that whatever the exact opposite adjective of "fabulous" is what I am. The most talent I have with a pair of hair-cutting scissors is trimming up my own bangs. I can't do anyone else's. Just mine.
All this to say that Jon grew up in Wonderful Hair World with my mother-in-law, Connie, and then, in what could probably only be called a horrific mistake by the dead protein strand community, he married me.
So, the fact that I cut Jon's hair this week and it doesn't look like he had a bad accident involving a switchblade-baring man driving a John Deere is something of a small miracle.
Actually, it looks quite good. If I say so myself.
Granted, I would run the clippers over Jon's head, squint at his hair, peer into the mirror, declare him done and gorgeous and then he would go back over his head with the clippers himself, just to "make sure you got everything."
Connie and Greg (my father-in-law) are actually coming out here to visit at the end of next week, so there is a very good question of why we didn't just wait until she came to try and tame the beast, but the answer is very simple and lies in two words:
Which happens to be at the beginning of next week. And I imagine we will take a few pictures. So, I decided to try to master the Wahl for Jon's sake.
And since this became a much longer story than it probably is, I'll leave it at the fact that he has a nice short buzz cut again and once again looks like a fine, upstanding teacher instead of a hapless snowboarder who managed to find some nice shirts and jeans that actually fit in the rear.
This is a side note, but did any of you notice how many of the snowboarders had their snow pants sagging in the Olympics? Really? And in all the documentaries they did on those guys? I didn't even know girl pants could sag in the rear.
We are on Day Three of clouds, rain, cold, snow, slight depression and major sleepiness. As I discussed in detail with the checkout lady at Wal-Mart today (wow. I do go there almost every day), it's just sad when you are having to deal with spring time allergies when it still looks like winter outside. If I'm going to be sneezing, I would at least like to see flowers or grass or something so I know why I'm sneezing. The lady agreed and said, "Yeah, or at least bugs." Which is when I kind of smiled in my "okay, that's weird" sort of smile, nodded, took my bag of dog food and left and it was only after I was putting the dog food in my car when I realized she probably said buds NOT bugs.
Sometimes I think it's best for me to not go out amidst the general public.