The World’s Worst Haircut. (Oh, fudge.)

Linus got his hair post, I guess it’s fitting for Peter to get one of his own. Peter, he of Epic Hair. That dirty-blonde mane is impossibly thick and unruly, full of cowlicks and weird patterns, and falls anywhere on a scale of vaguely wavy to ringlet curly (depending on the humidity).

Needless to say I love this child’s hair. L.O.V.E. I covet his hair, but alas it is not mine, so I do the only thing I can do: I call the shots on the cut.

Now, that can sound sorta weirdly controlling, I know, but: he likes it long, SO THERE. That is also a good thing because with those cowlicks, he’s probably looking at long or buzzed as his main options. Also he wears his BeckHair well, so why the hell not.

I will be the first to sing the praises of our new hometown – the food scene is killer (way ahead of theh game in KC, let alone Lawrence), the summers are lovely, the surrounding area is beautiful. Etc. etc. etc. HOWEVER: I cannot find a stylist to save my life, not for myself, and not for Peter. Josie (actually all of Salon Lucca, HOLLA) did a great job when we lived in Lawrence. Thus far, after dozens of cuts, no one can seem to handle Pete’s mop. They cut off too much in the front, not enough around the ears; the last dude tapered his mullet in the back which was rather interesting. Usually it’s not too terrible, though, and grows out decently after 2-3 awkward weeks.

So anyway: Pete needed a haircut recently. BAD. And no one had an opening to see him, not even tapered-mullet dude, so I ran him up to Sports Clips, gave specific instructions (“Don’t touch the front! We keep it long! Just trim up the sides around the ears and REMOVE THE MULLET PLEASE”), and figured it couldn’t go THAT badly. She smiled and said “got it! Medium long!” in a cheery voice and then motioned for me to go away and let her do her job.

I went to the waiting area and from what I could tell from just staring at the back of his head, it was going well. Mullet removed. Total win.

And then she chirped, “All done! Take a look, mom!” and spun him around. And this is pretty much exactly what I saw:

It took a mere 15 minutes for her to change a Beck to a Ralphie. And I mean, right down to the sideswept styled bit.

I like to think I reacted well considering my utter shock, thanking her and paying and hustling Pete out the door as quickly as possible so I could assess the damage. Although the fact that I rushed him out the door and into the car and only realized we had left his coat behind when he told me? That might have been a slight giveaway.

It was bad. Baaaaaad. If you put product in it to make it slicked to the side, I guess it looks okay in a really dorky bad way. But style it like any little boy’s hair (pretty much: air dry and run a comb through it), it’s a disaster. The “bangs” are uneven. She thinned his hair all over, cut it short on top, and took a clippers to the sides.

I wanted to die. I was in a MOOD the rest of the day. Then late Sunday, when I decided it was high time to get over something so trivial. Pete was up in his room playing. These days he’s camera-shy and asks me not to take his picture, but he was up for it this time, so I obliged. And when I go through them I have to wonder: is it the bad haircut that bothers me so much, or the fact that it makes him look like such a big kid all of a sudden?

I guess it will grow, so I need to just get over it. And it’s truly not quite as bad as I originally thought. Hair grows! Kids grow! It’s all okay!

Make no mistake though: I have now booked a good stylist 2 months out for this kid. Not taking any more chances.

**PS: Listening to Guerolito while editing/writing this, because: remixed lo-fi, ooooooh yeah. Beck is the man.