Leopards and Haircuts

I was just coming out of the bathroom this morning after my shower. Danyo rushed past me stating his urgency in washing his hands. "I need to wash my haaaaaans. I need to wash my hans right nooooow."

A 3 year old boy that willingly washes his hands is a little bit of a red flag. I was curious to find what he'd gotten on his hands. I watched as he rushed back out of the bathroom and into Avee who was sitting on my bed holding a little beanie baby leopard. "I washt my haaans Avwee!" She promptly handed him her baby leopard.

I laughed out loud. Only Avee could get a little boy to wash his hands to hold a beanie baby. It's been a long time since we've been around a "wash your hands first" baby, but I guess the principal has stuck.

This is where a segway would go.

J is growing out his hair. I say this with a slight eye-roll for a couple of reasons. When we first got married, J was constantly asking me to cut his hair. I don't know how to cut hair. I didn't even know how to handle clippers. It was a bad idea all around. He would assure me "You can't really mess it up" and "I'm not going to care how it looks." I pushed that easy-going attitude in him to the limit. And then some.

After one particularly um, unsuccessful attempt---my friend called me as I was driving to work. At the time J was working a temp job and caught the bus just down the street from our apartment.

She said, "I just drove past your husband, a skinny white-boy looking like a skinhead. Maybe you should take a bus and he can have the car; because quite frankly anything that could happen to you standing at a bus stop can't be as bad as what could happen to him in your neighborhood looking like that."

Periodically over the years I've suggested that J let his hair grow a little, just to see what happens. He could never get past like 1/2 an inch in length before it was driving him crazy or he felt frumpy looking.

Suddenly he decided to grow it long.

He's been "growing" it for probably six months now. I think people just started noticing last month. He's got miles to go before he's got the hippie-do he's hoping for.

And he still doesn't really like hair touching his forehead, but he's hoping that will change.

Yesterday, he got his hair "cut". He "consulted" a "stylist". He's cleaned up and has an action plan for this long hair growing endeavor.

AND.

He bought product.

He walked in the door and announced that he'd gotten his hair cut. Which, he had to do, because I was sooooo the male in that conversation---I did not notice.

He held up a big silver can of...something.

"I got this too."

I burst out laughing. "Really J? You just can't say no?"

He cast his eyes down. I'm sure he was thinking of the bottle of unused product in the bathroom. The one that was going to revolutionize the way his hair looked and totally worth the $27 an ounce he'd paid.

"How much did it cost?" I ask him.

"I'm ashamed to say," he admits.

I look at the bottle. It's skinny and it can't be much in volume (but oh! the volume it will give his hair!). I guess that it was $10.

More.

More.

More....

Yeah, I was laughing, and pointing and ridiculing without mercy.

He stood there and took the abuse too.

This man can is so tight he can get a booger out of Lincoln's nose. But apparently talking to him with his chopped hair on the floor is his kryptonite.

Heeeeeeey, maybe I should start cutting his hair for him again and THEN ask him for things when I'm done, before we've cleaned up.