Bunny Food it Ain't

It’s been very hairy around our house the last week or so.  I don’t mean “hairy” as in wild or scary or shocking.  Or, perhaps, maybe I do!?! 

Last week after almost 5 months my husband (FINALLY) went for a haircut.  I know what you’re thinking – most civilized human beings get their hair cut every 5 – 6 weeks.  I know, I know, you’re right!  My husband, however, likes to get a big bang for his buck, so he likes to see how long he can go without a haircut and without the HR Director writing him up for failing the hotel’s grooming policy.  When the "Dippity Do" doesn't,  when it could no longer hold a perfect “gelmet” he decided it was time for a trim.

Rather than going to a barber for a shave & a haircut he goes to a national chain known as “First Choice”.  In our household though, this national chain of hairdressers is known as “Her Choice” because really, it doesn’t matter what you tell the hairdresser, you get whatever cut she feels like giving you that day.  In the past this has meant everything from a nice trim and thinning out to a full on brush cut just mere days before our wedding.  Imagine how happy I was on my wedding day, posing for pictures, standing beside GI Joe with his new buzz cut. 

So last week he goes for a long overdue trim and my final words as he’s heading off are “don’t let them use the #1 blade on you – no buzz cuts or I swear to God, it’s grounds for divorce.”  He really must want to stay married because, indeed, the stylist did not use a #1 blade…or even a #2 blade for that matter.  She just scissored his cut.  Which, when you have enough hair on your head to start your own International Hair Club for Men franchise, a little scissoring is not a real haircut.

So, $15 later he comes home sporting what can only be referred to as “Hockey Hair.”  You know what I’m talking about right…all business in the front, party in the back.  Yes, my dear internet, my husband is sporting a modified mullet.  I can hear the groaning from you as I type this…I know, I know!  I’ve got my very own Billie Ray Cyrus right here in my kitchen. 

His new haircut elicted the following conversation this morning:

“Um, you know if you had gone back the next day they would have corrected your cut at no cost – it’s the hairdresser’s credo, you know”.

“I didn’t have time!  Besides, I like my hockey hair.”

“It looks more like 70’s Porn Star Hair if you ask me”

“I didn’t ask you.  It’s hockey hair – you know, the kind that attracts all the Puck Bunnies.  I used to wear my hair this way when I played hockey.  All the Puck Bunnies loved it, I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Did you get a lot of action with those Puck Bunnies?”

“None.”

“My point exactly.”

I’m really hoping that when he reads this blog that his very next step will be to make an appointment for further lid alteration.  At least before our vacation.  We can’t risk showing up in Nashville with him looking like Billie Ray Cyrus.