"I'm just a boy with a new haircut and that's a pretty nice haircut!"

Remember that Pavement song from, oh, 1994? Anyway, this weekend it was time to take Dexter in for his first trim. The wisps I had been hoping would turn into sweet little kisses of blond curls had instead turned into something distinctly like Rod Stewart's look from the disco age.

Mullet or shag? We report, you decide.

So, off to the barber we went. Dexter was remarkably calm throughout. No tears, no whimpers, no complaints at all. It was almost strange. He dozed off on the drive over and stayed asleep in my arms while we waited for our turn at a regular, old-school barbershop (all the kiddie haircut places are way out in the 'burbs), so he was pretty groggy when I propped him in the chair and the scissors started snipping. Or maybe he was mellow from the contact high we all got from the dude who walked in absolutely reeking of a certain herb (at 11 a.m.! Dude!). Whatever the reason, the cut was no problem. He even sat still for the electric clippers!


The whole procedure was over in 5 minutes. The barber was lovely and said it was an honour to give Dexter his first haircut. Mother and child left the shop untraumatized, except for the whole "contact high from sketchy clientele" situation (maybe next time we really should drive out to one of the kiddie haircut shops in deep suburbia). And voila--the new look!