"You'd be amazed at how easily they succumb to bowl cuts and mullets." My sister confides in me, as though the latest conspiracy overturning the world is directly linked to the favorite hair-do's of our youth. It's my nieces day to get her hair cut, and the instructions given to the patiently awaiting hair dresser, go something like this: "Yeah, just trim it up a bit here and there, take off some shagginess or whatever, just no bowl cuts or mullets."
Ah life in big sky country...where the buffalo roam, and mullets are an honest to god, fear instilling obstacle that must be reckoned with if you intend to raise your children without damaging their psyche in the same manner as your own. Besides, it's always far more entertaining to conceive original torture techniques for ones spawn. I dream of the day when I can repay my children with the humiliations of parental attendance. In the meantime, I take it upon myself to torment my nieces.
Lucky for them, they're too consumed by their own innocence, unknowingly condemning their future pubescent social life, by supplying me and their parents and sooooo many others, with endless incriminating stories to share their middle school and high school crushes. All I have to do is stand by and take note. Mwaaahaaahaaa. Perhaps I sound mean, but rest assured their daddy is already loading his shot gun for the poor, unsuspecting young fools who make the mistake of looking twice at his little girls. I might as well find ways to amuse myself with their inevitable evil teenagerhood, since they won't likely be escaping the house without a chaperon, and I'm likely to be that chaperon.
Grandmas and Grandpas, Aunties and Uncles, siblings and cousins--blood and adopted alike--clear your mantels. Clear your coffee tables and book shelves of my generations bad hair cuts and embarrassing fashion accessories. There's a new circus in town and I am sooooooo glad to be on the wagon that thinks it's all funny and finally off the one that finds it a life or death matter.
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