You sure got a perty neck

So, it's been two-and-a-half months since I announced that I had Greg Brady hair. Since that day, I've waited. The hair was becoming a running joke among my family and friends. People began to look forward to seeing my "wings" more than they looked forward to seeing me. I had a Matthew McConaughey thing going with the hair and the voice, just not the pretty face or gym-built physique. I was looking less like the bunk-bed Greg Brady and more like the Greg Brady that moved into the attic and installed beaded curtains.

Last night, as I was driving home, something made me drive past the neighborhood to Supercuts. I think that something may have been my reflection in the mirror and the increasing time it's been taking to get ready in the morning. Lately, I've been doing less brushing my hair and more taming it.

I waited for my turn and sat down in the chair. The hairdresser/barber/whatever said "So I guess you're a scissor-cut?"

Clearly, my long flowing locks made her think that I'm a long-haired guy who just needs a trim. "No, I'm a clipper guy. This is a big job. I haven't had a haircut since October."

She could barely contain her amusement, but pressed on and began shearing my head.

I watched as the curls fell down the smock I was wearing and on to the floor. The gray-to-brown ratio had predictably increased once again. Feeling saucy, I engaged the woman cutting my hair in conversation. This is very unlike me; to incite smalltalk, but I guess I was relieved to be actually getting a haircut.

"I think I looked younger with the long hair. Problem is, I looked like a young slob."

"You're right. You did look like a slob. I was thinking that when you walked in here."

Wow, brutal honesty. You don't see that every day. Mercilessly, she continued.

"If you think that hair was doing anything for you, you're wrong."

Ouch. I get it. I'm in the chair. At least I can write about this conversation. OK, I'll play. "I thought that's how the kids were wearing it these days."

She quickly answered me: "Not on this planet."

I followed up with "Haven't you ever seen Ashton Kutcher?"

"Not in this chair."

After about 15-minutes, the transformation was complete. The hair was so long that I could have saved it for a makeover show or something. I think I'll have to keep it short now for awhile because I don't want my child's first vision in this world to be that of a hideous, bushy-haired old guy trying to look younger.

As dramatic as the haircut was, it only cost $12. I gave her $20 and told her to keep it. "That's for your honesty. Don't stop telling the truth. I'll be back in less than 6 months."