I am the mother of an almost 15 month old son. He was blessed with a bit of hair, but it has only grown exponentially since about the time he was 6 months old. It's probably been since he was about 10 months old that I have been trying to convince my husband that he needs a haircut. That's 5 months, approximately 21.65 weeks, 150 days, 3,600 hours, 216,000 minutes, 12,960,000 seconds, (you get the idea) of insisting to my husband that our son needs to get a trim. Nothing drastic, but at least a little off the back that's starting to hang down the nape of his neck!
And for the exact same amount of time my husband has insisted that our son is way too young for a haircut. That he shouldn't need a haircut until closer to his second birthday.
Enter our trip to Office Depot last Sunday. While checking out we had a cashier that had already displayed to us that she wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box. For example, she had no idea what the store's return policy was (um, hello?) and had to print out a piece of register tape in order to read the policy from the back of it.
Now, my son was sitting in the front of the shopping cart and she in all honesty could only see the back of his head because he was facing me, not her. But come on, he was wearing blue from head to toe! And then she does it...she asks, "How old is SHE?" She mistakes my son for a girl. My husband and I literally speaking in unison, quickly answer, "Well, HE is..." and give his age. (Of course I know the exact month and week whereas my husband stutters and can only say he's a year, but that's another issue completely.)
So, we leave the store, travel home, and I honestly forgot about the entire situation. That is until that night:
I'm sitting in the living room and my husband calmly, but out of the blue, states, "I wouldn't be opposed to getting his hair cut."