Splitting Hairs

What one subject remains a constant source of contention in the McKnight household?

A difference in political views? Varying tastes in music? Less filling versus tastes great?

Oh, no, it is nothing so significant as all that. . .

Nope, we don't argue over money or who does the chores or even whose turn it is to make the coffee.

Instead, we choose to split hairs over - hairs.

Specifically the ones that comprise the glorious mane sprouting atop Halfway Between's head.

"Why can't he just go down to the barber shop with me?" Hubbalicious demands to know. "He's too good for a ten-dollar buzz cut?!"

"But Dad, the chicks dig my flowing locks. . ."

So today, I took him to see my hairdresser in the hopes that we could reach a happy compromise between his rock n' roll do and looking like someone loves him.

When we got home, I called him in to show his Dad. He entered the room with the neck of his shirt pulled over his eyebrows, making a sort of t-shirt habit. "Yes, Mother?"

"Come on, show Dad your hair. . ." I coaxed him.

He lifted his arm, exposing his scraggly pit-hairs. "There you go, Dad. Stylish, isn't it?"

Uhhhhhh. . .I looked over at Hubbalicious in all his clean-cut grandeur. Considering that when we met, he was still sporting his "Flock of Seagulls" look, I'm thinking that the joke will be on hair-do boy in another twenty years anyway.

Hair today, gone tomorrow. . .

Have fun!