I’ll Have the “Lloyd Christmas”, Please

“At the very end of Taylor’s haircut, the stylist put her glasses on.”

My tweet from 4 years ago, according to Timehop.

Hilarious that a visually impaired person would cut hair without her visual aids.

Even more hilarious is how appropriately timed that throwback tweet was in light of recent events.

Both boys started preschool this week, so we ventured out yesterday afternoon for some grooming.

It’s basically a rule that first-day-of-school pictures feature a fresh haircut. Or something.

I took them to a hair salon for kids that we’ve been to before because, while the haircuts are kinda steep ($15 + tip), they do a decent job and are usually able to get both boys in at once.

Beckett chose to wear his Superman costume, Hutton was in a great mood, Davis was recently fed…it all started out so promising.

And I don’t care who you are, this is cute:

Both Superman and Beckett (dual personality) did great…

…and then there was Hutton.

The thing about 19 month olds is that you have a *very* small window of time where they sit still. Very. Like 18 seconds or less.

Thankfully, with his big brother sitting right next to him, Hutton usually does pretty well with haircuts. But, still. There’s a window.

So when the stylist cutting his hair snipped each individual hair at a snail’s pace, I knew we might be in trouble.

My fears were confirmed when I overheard her talking to Hutton as if he were a 16 year old capable of self-control.

“Don’t turn your head, ok? Look down and hold still, please.”

(I was kinda thinking a fart noise might work better at getting and holding his attention, but whatever.)

I let the professional do her thing.

And do her thing she did.

The only way I can describe what unfolded next is through pictures.

The thing is…she camouflaged the cut really well with a side swoop. I didn’t realize the level of devastation she had caused until we got home and the combover came uncombed.

And when that happened, this happened.

Oh.

Sweet.

Mercy.

Maybe it’s better from another angle…

Nope.

It really just gets more unfortunate the longer you look at it.

Like this.

And one more for good measure.

I mean….WHAT.

And HOW.

And WHY DID I JUST PAY FOR THIS.

I immediately called a different location of the same place and explained the situation calmly. I said something along the lines of, “HOLY WOW MY KID JUST GOT THE WORST HAIRCUT IN THE HISTORY OF PEOPLE WITH HAIR GETTING HAIRCUTS BY HAIRCUTTERS.”

They assured me they could make it better if I brought him in.

When we walked in the door, all I got out was “Hi, I just called a minute ago about –” before I was cut off by their stifled gasps. No need explaining why I was there. It was written all over my child’s hairline.

And then this:

stylist: So, who cut his hair at the other location?
me: *stylist’s name*
stylist: Ohh. Oh, that explains it.
me: Wait, what? That explains what?? Is she still training? Is she on crack cocaine? IS SHE MISSING AN EYE?
stylist: She’s just…she’s terrified of small children.
me: …um. I guess I’m just a little confused because this is a children’s haircutting salon. It says so right there on your sign. And on the fact that Bubble Guppies is playing on that kid-sized television.
stylist: Well, by “terrified” I just mean she doesn’t want to accidentally cut them.
me: Right. Me either. I don’t want to cut children – valid fear – however, I also did not choose a profession as a stylist for small children. So…you see my confusion…
stylist: She usually does great.
me: *blank stare*

I would like to say the new stylist was able to fix Hutton’s hair.

I would like to say they handled the whole situation well, going as far as to give us a year’s worth of free haircuts (however unfortunate those cuts may be).

I would like to say I will be returning again to this place.

I can say none of these things.

What I can say is this: “Just Cut It” isn’t just the name of a kid’s salon, it’s a styling motto. They will, quite literally, just cut it.

Maybe for you they’ll cut with a blunt object. Or with both hands tied behind their back. Or hours after invasive cataract surgery.

The sky is the limit, really.

If you decide to check them out,

1) buy lots and lots and lots of gel, because

2) the “Hutton special” is not as much of a crowd pleaser as one might hope.