Message From Brian

Today Mommy took me to get a haircut.

That's right. You read that correctly. Mommy took me to get a haircut. Usually, I go to the barber shop with my Dad. Getting my hair cut with my Dad is really quite enjoyable. I'm surrounded by girls all day, so it's kind of nice to kick back and listen to some "guy talk" every once in a while. I don't have enough words to join in the barber-shop conversations yet, but I can understand some stuff, and I can laugh with the best of them. Plus, it's just cool to hang out with my Dad after a long day of Barbie dolls and dress-up clothes.

But this morning, Mom told me that she was taking me for a haircut. I wasn't too happy. I stamped my little foot, shook my head, and said, "No! Daddy!" but either she didn't understand or she just didn't want to listen. She said something about schedule conflicts making it impossible for Daddy to take me this week. And apparently my sideburns were almost as long as Uncle Brendan's. To tell you the truth, I hadn't even noticed that my hair was getting long. I don't pay attention to those kinds of things.

We went to a place called "Snip-its". It's nothing like the barber shop. For one thing, I had my hair cut by a lady. I also felt pretty foolish sitting in a hot-pink chair, wearing a purple drape over my shoulders. I didn't cry or anything. I just watched a movie that seemed suspiciously like a commercial for Snip-its while the lady cut my hair. I was surrounded by hair-ribbons and scented shampoos, too. Anyway, when it was all done I got to put a card into a slot, and I got a rubber ducky for a prize. I thought it was a somewhat inadequate reward for having to sit through a haircut in what seemed-to-me to be a girls' hair salon, but I accepted it with reluctance.

My haircut is cute enough, although Mommy thought the price was outrageous. I also don't have that cool, "manly" aftershave smell that I usually have when I leave the barber's shop. Hopefully by the time I need another haircut, I'll have a few more words in my vocabulary, and I'll be able to make my needs known a bit more clearly. Short of that, I'll just need to throw a big tantrum. Next time, I'm going to the barber shop with Dad.