You see, I have long hair.
Like, borderline Duggar long, but that's another story for another day. It started back in high school. My older sister was going to cosmetology school and I would go to her to cut my hair while she was in school. Why not? She had been doing it for quite a while without a license at home, and I always liked what she'd done.
My freshman year, I was there one Saturday, my sister clipping away and saying "Done!". The instructor comes along, says to my sister Chris "You did it wrong" and proceeds to cut my hair again.
Now back then, I was 15 and kind of scared to stand up to people. I didn't want my hair cut more, but I didn't have the nerve to say anything. Before all was said and done, my hair was about 3/4" all over.
Yes. It WAS hideous.
Thansk for asking.
So ever since then, I've had issues with getting haircuts. I prefer to just let it go, have some split ends and deal with it. In return, I end up with pretty long hair. It's nice that I actually quite like it long, and so does my husband.
Now having said that, I was starting to get a little paranoid before we went. Would some of the 9 quadzillion stylists in attendance request to color my hair, or even worse, would they want to *cut it*?
I contemplated a ball cap.
I pondered a ponytail.
I seriously considered a Tshirt saying "back off bitch"
I even relayed my concerns to Gene and he didn't take that very well. In the end, I figured a polite "no thank you" should take care of the problem.
The first day into the trip, I get a text message informing me, that for every inch of hair that I came home without, one baby chick would bite it. There were even threats that the chicks were with him in the work truck as we spoke. It escalated to the point of facebook statuses and people took sides.
Later on into the trip, I got a message that said "I'll make you a deal, if you don't cut your hair, not only will I not kill your chickens, I'll buy you 2 ducks."
OK, I was GAME.
I've wanted ducks basically since... well... I could waddle myself.
Every couple hours, I'd get a text message wanting to know the hair status, and then he insisted on seeing a photo of me, with my hair and Monday's St. Louis Dispatch as proof I hadn't cut it. (To be fair, the texting was getting a tiny bit old by the 3rd day!)
Finally, around Sunday-ish, Gene admitted that he'd already bought the ducks.
It's pretty much been a running joke for 3 years here of "Oh, I'm getting a duck!" whenever we'd think about it. With a resounding "NO!" from Gene.
Then Tanner and I would chuckle, knowing we were slowly wearing him down.
Today, I was cleaning and found this note:
Makes me laugh, seeing his "chicken scratches" (pun intended) of all the important things to get done over the weekend, and "DUCKS" was added, obviously important stuff.
I'm so happy!! I do believe that life is now complete.
Except for the goat.
Oh, we're getting a Goat.