There’s a limit to the amount of risk I’m willing to take with Worm.  Holding a pointy scissors inches from that flailing toddler’s ears and eyes is outside of my comfort zone.  So I happily deferred this task to a professional.  That way, if anything happened to Worm’s precious little head, I could be a savior rather than the villain.

It wasn’t that we didn’t like Worm’s coiffure.  We just tired of washing the juice, peanut butter, and snot out of it.  (A slippery kid in a slippery bath being washed by my slippery hands for longer than 30 seconds, is a recipe for disaster.)  Less hair for him equals less work for us.  Besides, Worm’s hair is in that awkward stage between crew cut and mullet.  Yep, he’s got helmet hair…not quite the Gene Simmons look, but pretty darn close.

So off to the internet we went in search of a toddler friendly hairdresser.  Surprisingly, my Googling didn’t turn up more than a handful of local shops.  We picked out one that wasn’t too far away and hopped in the car, anxious as to what was in store for us.

Worm, Next Time I Get The Car!

Worm, Can I At Least Ride Shotgun?!

We strolled into the hair place and the first thing Worm saw was the big red car in the middle of the floor.  When his eyes lit up, we knew we had a winner!  Feeling kind of left out, I asked if I could get a haircut too.  (There was only one car and it took every last ounce of restraint for me not to shove Wormie to the floor and jump in behind that steering wheel!)  I settled for the normal lame-ass (I’m not bitter.) swivel chair.  At least I was sitting closest to the TV blasting the cartoons.  Yeah, the closest.  Me.

We both ordered our haircuts:

“What cut would you like sir?” said the hairdresser.

“Ung. Dat! Pop! Bebop Bo!” responds the diminutive communicates like a caveman.

“So how do you like it cut?” asks the other hairdresser.

“Could I please get 1/2″ off the sides and have the top cut short enough for me to spike it, shall the need present itself?” replied the sophisticated, dashing and debonair gentleman.

(Guess which conversation was Worm’s…)

And so the hair starts flying in all directions.  I braced myself for a deafening cry from the other side of the room, but I heard none.  Worm never once screamed or pitched a fit.  In fact, every time I had the opportunity to glance in his general direction, he was contently playing in my his little red Beetle or watching the cartoons on the TV.  He was eerily quiet.  (As the old saying goes, “A quiet toddler is the devil’s workshop assistant.”)  Today was the exception to the rule.

And at the end of it all, no tears were shed from either of us.  Worm got a nice big lollipop for his effort as well as a lock of his own hair that we will bake into a chocolate cake for his 18th birthday and serve it to him in the name of recycling.

The haircut was a resounding success!  Hooray for Worm being on his best behavior!

Two Good Looking Dudes!

Two Good Looking Dudes!

Next time though, I GET TO DRIVE THE BEETLE!

Gavin – 22; Dad – 11 (I was certain you were going to scream bloody murder during your haircut.  Guess I was wrong…)