The Furry Fight
Well actually, that is not true, I understand it completely, I just don't like it.
Keith's hair grows like bamboo. The boy needs a hair cut just about once a week.
Faye on the other hand, has hair that grows like a mountain. Slow. So very slow it is nearly imperceptible.
I really wish Faye had the ridiculously fast growing hair, too. But then again, if she did, she wouldn't have those gorgeous curls. The super fine thin hair comes from me. Complete with lovely curls. The coarse badger fur (because it really cannot be called hair) comes from Jeffrey. Straight, and unmanageable, but glorious in its growth and thickness.
Because of his fur, we have to cut it often.
When I took him before to get it cut, he insisted it be cut like The Doctor.
Same thing last time I took him.
And then the day after he got his adorable hair cut, he refused to let me style it for him.
And every time after that.
When I would style it for him, for church or the like, tantrums would ensue. The tears, the screams, the drama. Especially when I pulled out the spray bottle. Heaven forbid water touch him!
He would look dashing. A heart throb! Yet as soon as we got home, he would dash for the bathroom, stick his head under the faucet (because he loves water on his hair/skin oh so much), and then plaster his hair flat to his head. Like a helmet.
"Daddy never combs his hair! Why do I have to?" he exclaims. "I want to be just like Daddy."
I sigh and try to figure out how to explain to the boy that he has so much more hair than his father, thus it is necessary to keep it tamed.
For him, my reasoning is like a lake full of holes.
|This once was a real lake. Seriously. Lake LA, California.|
It doesn't hold water.
And so, since I have no authority or fashion sense in his mind, Keith's hair is going to either be grown out long, or buzzed. I can't take the fight every morning anymore.
No longer will he look like The Doctor.