That’s what I have been.
From cutting The Dudes’ hair.
Because when I get a hold of the scissors, bad things happen.
Very bad things.
In my own defense, I’d like to state, for the record, that I had good intentions.
I was sick of seeing #3’s bangs plastered to his face with snot.
Because he had a cold.
A wicked-bad-green-booger-snot-yellow-mucous-sniffling-sneezing-coughing-achy-stuffy-head-lucky-no-fever number.
And I thought, I can’t do a bloody thing about the cold, but I can get his hair unglued from his face.
I forgot, though, that I can tell you what I know about how to give a scissor cut to a dude in 3 seconds flat.
And, I’m not a 3 seconds flat story telling kind of chick.
Ya’ll know me (and yes, I really do use the word ya’ll in daily conversation. Drives Dumb Dad batty.), I like to beat a story till it bleeds.
Kinda like right now.
You’re probably thinking why doesn’t she just get to the picture already?
What’s with all the
That’s just how I roll.
I like to play a little hard to get.
Make you want it.
Do you want it?
You know you do.
Here it is.
Business in the front…
Party in the back…
A mullet my friends.
I gave the kid an effing mullet.
Reminds me a little, okay a lot, of Uncle Jesse…
But it suits him I think.
Especially if he’s gonna grow up to be this cute…
Dumb Dad wanted me to reiterate that I am still, forever and always, banned from giving haircuts.
Uncle Jesse turned out okay.