A nod to growing up

Saturday I cut all my hair off. I was just so tired of it getting caught in my armpits when putting socks in the bottom drawer or being mistaken for a dirty hippie when walking around 5 Points. "It's clean! I washed it this morning! I swear!" The woman who cut it - bless her heart, sort of - did what I asked. She gave it a huge trim and then some layers. But what I'd forgotten was that when my hair gets too many layers, it falls into the perfect mullet. And I know what you're thinking, nah not a real mullet. But when I told Georgia she goes, "Oh yeah, like you had in high school?" I was popular, as you can imagine. I got home and Bud was working on his truck and when I ran up to him he'd already plastered his SUPPORTIVE LOOK on his face in preparation. I didn't hate it. I was trying to run with it. But then I thought, TAKE SOME HAIR RISKS. Right? So I insisted that Bud cut all the mullet strands off and although he at first told me I needed to wait 24 hours, I yelled, "Bud, I'm 26! Cut it off!" And so he did. I will try and post a picture later, if I can get a good one. But the real point of this post is this story. After the haircut we went to Bud's office to play ping pong and print some maps for Bud's upcoming business trip. (By the way? On our second game, I only lost 21-18. So I'm not saying I'm good at ping pong, but it was only my second game in many years I'm just saying). Bud has a white board in his office. And I was, understandably, bored with him trying to get his map set up. You see where I'm going with this? I drew a merely PG13 picture on his white board then sat down and waited for him to notice, which he did, chuckled and continued to work. But we WEREN'T ALONE. His coworker came meandering in a few minutes later and as the horror of my picture hit me, I felt a cold, wet flush creep up my now exposed neck and onto my face. I jumped out of my chair and in front of the white board but guess what? NO HAIR! It was like my skinny toothpick neck trying to cover up a dirty high school picture you might scrawl on your desk. In high school. Or the time I wrote a rude note on a chalkboard in a conference room about my boss and then he walked in. Cut my hair, I'm 26, I always know what I'm doing!