Did I miss the worldwide memo sent out to all women who happen to push out a human with a penis attached that says that there is some sort of law pertaining to the length one must keep a boy’s hair in order to be socially acceptable?
I mean, I know I don’t update my driver’s license nearly as quickly as the DMV would like when I move, but i’m not fucking hard to find. Why didn’t I get this memo? I put in for a change of address at the post office so that all of my mail would get forwarded to me, and my e-mail address has been the same for a SOLID 10 years. I even checked the 7th circle of hell, aka my spam folder, for this memo that MUST have gone out.
I’m thinking there MUST be this elusive memo sent out to all moms of boys on planet earth because it would seem that every time I take MY two boys out in public, people feel an uncontrollable urge to comment on the length of their hair.
It never fails.
It does not matter if they are wearing cargo shorts and a shirt with a skull on it that has something obnoxiously masculine written across the top and very obviously boys shoes- someone is going to call one of mine a “she”, “her”, “GIRL”
It does not matter how completely blatantly obvious it is that my kids are boys- someone’s going to fuck it up.
Or are they? You see, i’m beginning to wonder if this whole “mistaking my boys for girls” thing is some kind of secret code that was on this memo that got lost in the mail on its way to me. I’m thinking that on this memo it must have said that when you see a boy who has hair longer than 3 inches- you must make a snooty comment to the parent about how they look like a girl, as to passive aggressively say “he needs a hair cut”- y’know, without actually saying it. Because that would be rude. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?
It happens so often that it just seems planned. Anyone with half a brain can look at my kids and tell that they clearly are NOT female. And if people think I would give birth to girls that hideous, well, we have even bigger problems on our hands.
Their hair is not THAT long. It isn’t shoulder length. Not that there’s anything wrong with boys having shoulder length hair. Not that only females can. Who the fuck cares? But theirs isn’t.
Not only would they make really ugly girls, but they’d make really ugly girls with REALLY heinous hair cuts. No one would cut a girls hair like that unless they were being punished. Or maybe if they got gum in it.
The hair cuts aren’t bad hair cuts, they just aren’t GIRL hair cuts.
“Really, those are boys?”
NO, i’m fucking LYING to you and dressing my little girls in boys clothing as a testament against the color pink and frills. Dipshit.
“Two boys? No girls”
No, i’m hiding the daughter in my purse- douchelick.
This isn’t the 50s; the crew cut is out of style unless you’re enlisting, and having longer hair doesn’t instantly make you a dirty hippie, just like women having short hair doesn’t make them butch. Some boys just look good with long hair, not girly. Some girls look good with short hair, not butchy.
C’mon now- Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall? Ginnifer Goodwin.. like.. always?
Suck it up, Beav. Your hair cut leaves me questioning your judgment and the judgment of those behind this memo that never found its way to me
So the hell what if my boys have “long” hair? If I shaved their heads, you’d have to stare at their misshapen skulls, and then i’d hear whining about that too. Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t
I do have to say though, mystery memo writers/hair haters, it was an ingenious move hiring old people to do all of your dirty work, for everyone knows we as a people (those of us with souls and a sense of respect) are far less likely to spork the elderly than people our own age or younger. That move was extremely well played- but you’re never going to win. Why?
Because i’m never cutting the kids hair just because some crotchety old turdbucket asks if my boy is a girl. And one day your age isn’t going to save you from my wrath.
Person on tv: Age is just a number! 10yo: Yeah, a number that pulls you closer to death.
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