Just before my youngest boy became a man in eyes of his faith (aka had his bar mitzvah) I insisted that he get a 'real' haircut, rather than the long/short version he had been wearing. The non-cut (as I liked to call it) was faithfully recreated every two weeks with the very best efforts of a truly lovely (though barely trained) young woman at the Hair Cuttery, who was no match for my metro-sexual husband and his backseat cutting. The resulting unruly hybrid was born of years of my husband -- of whom she is genuinely deathly afraid -- cowing the young woman into giving the child-man a haircut that reflected what my husband believed to be the child-man's (extremely blurry) vision of this best 'hair self.' This vision was extracted from said child-man through an extraordinarily painful processin which my husband first insisted the child-man 'speak up' and tell the lovely lady what he wanted, and then stopped the lovely lady, and reinterpreting the mumbled outlines of 'the vision' with each cut of the scissor.
Two weeks before the blessed event, I brought the child-man to my hairdresser who confirmed that it was, “all jacked up." The next week, I brought the child-man in for what he now calls his “first real haircut.” Inauspiciously, his father came to pick him up, and that is where the story went terribly wrong. I made the mistake of mentioning to metro-sexual hubby that my gal thought his (prideful) doo was from the wrong decade. From that moment on he stalked her, trying to make an appointment for a ‘consultation’ and eventually showing up to, and taking over, my appointment. After twenty minutes of standing in front of the mirror while she tried to cut my hair, I said, “it’s just hair; it will grow back, take a chance or don’t, but PLEASE step aside.”
Earlier this weekend metro-man and the newly minted (metro) man got their hairs cut by my gal. They are now sharing very expensive ‘product,’ and metro-man has been reduced to having the newly minted man ‘help him’ style his hair. This morning metro-man came with me to MY APPOINTMENT to make sure he was ‘doing it right.’ I have only myself to blame for what has become the (expensive) bane of my existence.