"The Ladaaays Like It When You're Handsome..."

These words, a direct and unedited quote from Big Red Headed Boy, as he stands in my bathroom, just one month shy of his 8th year, with a big boy hand full of runny mousse (my good mousse at that) all ready to splat it upon his big red head. Have Mercy. Have Mercy on me right this very minute Lord, because I am just about falling out of myself over this. He used my blowdryer last week. Now, my children, none excepted, have a perfect genetic hybrid of my hair and dh's hair. So it's rather um....equine-tail-like. Brushy. Coarse. Thick. Same cowlick in all three, right smack over the left eye. I can say with all the certainty of the Resurrection that none of my babies will ever sport those obnoxiously long "bama bangs" because that hair in that cowlick spot will never ever go along with the necessary gravity. As a matter of fact, all three boys get taller as their hair gets longer. LRHF, LFHF and BRHB. It grows up, like zoysia grass. Daddy's hair does just the same, faster if he's been drinking a bit.

Oh, but this morning. My boy telling me all about combing his hair (brush cut, mind you, maybe 1/3 inch long. Maybe) while he smears mousse in it. That was some mighty sharp red hair that left our house bound for second grade on this fine morning.

Be kind to my boy, Dear Ladies. You don't want to be on my bad side.