Business in the front, party in the back

Some things should be left to the professionals. I don't believe in do-it-yourself plumbing or fixing the motherboard of my laptop when it dies. So why did I think I could cut darling daughter's hair?

For weeks, if not months, I've been threatening to cut her hair, much to dear husband's chagrin. She was developing a serious mullet. Regardless if a mullet is on a hockey player, an aging 80's rocker or a toddler, they aren't cute. I should point out that dear husband doesn't like mullets. He just doesn't like the concept of cutting darling daughter's hair. I had to promise him that I'd save her hair clippings from her first official hair cut.

When she woke up from her afternoon nap, my tolerance for the mullet had reach its breaking point. I hate to say this, but the back of her hair looked like a straggly, nasty, matted rat's nest. It was horrible. To put the mullet out of its misery, I got out the scissors, wet down her hair and snipped. Well, I think I may have snipped a little too much. It isn't even in places and it sure in heck could be styled a bit better, but at least the mullet is gone. She kind of looks boyish, so I'll be dressing her in pink for the next week or two. And maybe if I'm lucky, she'll tolerate a hair clip. At least her hair is all business now. No party in the back to be found. Thank God. No way around it, mullets are horrible.