Shearly you jest

A few months ago I posted that Sean had grown so tired of spending $10 for a haircut every month that he decided buy his girlfriend-cum-stylist a hair trimmer. (I'm a lucky lady, y'all!) About three days before I left for my weekend College Station trip, my baby brother requested that I bring the hair trimmer along, for he too had grown tired of his usual hair maintenance routine. My mom was vehemently opposed to Trey's decision to turn his styling duties over to someone whose experience consisted solely of clipping on the #4 comb and buzzing away. "His hair is too temperamental, you'll never make it look right," she said. "He'll look terrible with a shaved head! His face shape is all wrong!"

It took a whole hour, a new #8 comb, some mad blending technique, and a couple of close calls (it turns out boys are just as horrified by "OOOOOPS!" as girls are) but his head? Not shaved. His hair? Gelled for the first time since...high school? His style? No longer poofy. His mom? In awe.