The editors, for one reason or another (fear, cuteness, ennui), have thus far put off getting my hair did. But, given the three day weekend and an uncharacteristic burst of energy, we headed for Snip-its and they strapped me into the chair. For those of you who are undoubtedly concerned, the editors tell me I was a SUPER big boy, with no crying, and, as you can see, a metric asston of cheezy grins. What can I say, I have an amazing personality (ed. note: take a look at whats in his left hand. personality my keister).
Precut, looking hot with my hockey hair!
My intrepid stylist worked flawlessly around my sucker. Yea, it was rootbeer.
OK, I needed a hair cut.
My "prize pass", which would have been a way better prize than the temporary tattoo they gave me, if they had let me take it home.
this is actually the finished product, but chronological order is for wussies.
Yes, I am generous. You are welcome.
She didn't want any, interestingly enough.
Mom did though.
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