I am so predictable.
Every time I take William to get his hair cut, I agonize over the end result, even when it looks perfectly fine.
This time is no exception. Except that it really doesn't look perfectly fine. I think we had a trainee cut his hair yesterday. She was very nice, but she didn't really cut it that much, and the bangs ended up very crooked. I managed to restrain myself from getting out my nail scissors to even them up.
But I made things worse anyway. I took William back to the salon after school today to have someone trim up the bangs to make them even. Well, they are straighter than they were but now they're about an inch shorter than they were after the initial haircut--and because of his cowlick, they're still not really straight! Argh! So now he has crooked super-short bangs with not-short-enough hair-in-general.
And since he's a boy, I can't even pull it all back with a barrette or use a bow to distract the eye from the super-short crookedness.
Yes, I realize that I have a lot invested in his hair, perhaps to the point of silliness. I think it's a result of my ambivalence toward my own hair; I always fret that one side is shorter or fuller than the other, and haircuts for me are always fraught with worry that the hairstylist is not going to be able to give this crazy head of hair a decent cut (and I think you may recall the much-alluded-to disastrous haircut of July 2006). And then there's the fact that I still haven't gotten over the Dorothy Hamill wedge that my mother forced on me in 1979. No, that haircut will live in infamy forever.
Argh argh argh.
Thank God his hair grows as fast as mine does. Maybe by New Year's, he'll look normal again.