I walked in the door tonight and announced we were headed back to SuperCuts.
The Boy moaned.
And then I said his sister was going with him, and SHE would make the decision about how to cut his hair so that he would resemble something other than a child whose finger should be stuck in a dike. And I threatened that if I sat down I was not getting back up.
And so we left, but not before The Girl had a chance to print out a photo of the movie star she wanted her brother to resemble when all was said and done. Of course, when all was said and done her brother looked nothing like the movie star, but that's neither here nor there.
I was off the hook. And that's all that matters.
The Boy actually THANKED ME for screwing up his hair in the first place. Not that it was ever my fault to begin with, mind you. (See previous post) His hair is now short, spikey, messy, above his ears, stylin', and if he were a girl I'd say it was SASSY. It's better to play football in 100 degree plus heat, dries faster, has style instead of just hanging there, and makes him look about seven inches taller.
And he REALLY likes it.
And because it was a misunderstanding with the "stylist" we had, the newer, better version we got tonight apologized all over herself for the poor job that was done the first time and cut The Boy's hair for free.
And I REALLY liked that.
So all is good here. No matter what Cutie's dad has to say about it. :P