I decided that I needed a haircut on Saturday. Being the truly amazing, thoughtful, and humble father and husband that I am, I took Noah with me. That isn't actually important to the story, but I wanted to put that out there, so the entire Internet knew that...
I got a haircut. As the apparently foreign man took notice of my shirt as I took off my sweater, he must have assumed that I was currently in the Marines and stationed at Quantico...as my shirt said "MARINES Quantico". I did not put this together until he started in with "the 1". Here is my beef with barbers. How do I know what a "1" is? Seriously. Do I ask him the clocking of his RAM or any nerdy things like that?
So, he starts off with "the 1" and soon says, (in somewhat broken English) "It's been a while, huh?" as clumps of hair are flying left and right. I realized at that point, that I would be getting the "Weekend Warrior" haircut. No dice. I got the active duty screamer, baby! Any higher and/or tighter on my do and I'd be considered a slightly overweight Gunny looking for a meeting and a working party.
Anyway, as Noah is chuckling at me, I realized that he has never seen me with really, really, really short hair. Later that night, the kids started in on their observations of the obvious(my little spies in training....)
Isabelle: "Dad....your hair looks....cute"
Lily: "Yeah. It is REALLLY short. It looks nice."
Caleb: "Dad. Your hair is neat. It has hair on both sides, but not in the middle, but it comes to a point...kind of...in the middle....kind of like Batman."
Out of the mouths of children...
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