Am I Really an 80s Fan?

(from a previous series, based on all the uncertainty recently regarding my support of the mullet)

There’s So Much in Life…

Sadly, each time I get into a pissing match over who’s the biggest 80s fan in Clear Lake, the final argument comes down to this:

Steve: Well, show me your mullet picture, dude.

Me: I, uhhh, I didn’t…*mumbles inaudibly*

Steve: Hmm? What was that? Could you speak up? You didn’t have a…? You didn’t have a what?

Me: *meekly* …a mullet.

Steve: YOU DIDN’T HAVE A MULLET! AND YOU DARE CLAIM YOURSELF AN 80S FAN?!? YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE THE RIGHT!

And, sadly, I know it’s true. I can’t really say I was an 80s fan, because I didn’t have a mullet. And, I’m sorry, but goth doesn’t count, because goth is way more popular now than it was in 1984. But the mullet WAS the 80s.

True, I might have lost my virginity to Sister Christian, holding the climax right up until Jack Blades’ ‘Motorin’ crescendo, but really, who hasn’t?

And with all this born again stuff, I can get my cherry back. But I can never return to the past for a mullet portrait.

At least, I didn’t think so. Until I watched with fondness my 6 year old son playing X-Box last night.

My son.

My progeny.

My image.

Me: Alex! Can I take Tristan in for a haircut tomorrow?

My Romanian Wife, Alex: Da. And peek up some rabbit haunches from market.

Me: Sure!

Okay, so am I wrong to want for my son what I could never have? He’ll get over it, won’t he? I mean, he’s 6, he’s not going to be scarred for life because of a mullet. Scarring doesn’t happen until puberty, right? I’ll take him into Super Cuts, ask for a mullet, run over to Olan Mills and have a couple of drop shadow shots done. Then we’ll run back over to Super Cuts, have them shave the whole thing off, and I’ll tell my wife the school had a lice alert.

And don’t think they won’t comply at Super Cuts. Every cosmetologist is at heart an 80s fan. Every cosmetologist secretly longs for her boyfriend to pick her up in his Camaro IROC for a night of Boone’s and 2nd base.

And every cosmetologist secretly longs for these words:

“Give me the mullet. “

So, I’m gonna do it. I’ve just gotta find that Night Ranger tape and my high school yearbook.

Tomorrow, we’re getting a mullet.

Together.

"You’ll be all right….tonight!!!"

* * *
later

well, i have a confession to make.

i didn't go through with the mullet for my son. as it turns out, apparently, i actually had already given him a mullet once. one time. i was intoxicated. i'm not proud of the fact.

ah, what the hell, who am i kidding? it was my proudest frickin' moment as a father!



of course, there was a little romanian hell to pay afterwards.

Alex: vut the hell deed you do to my child, you leetle bastard?!?

Me: IT'S OUR CHILD! AND I GAVE HIM A MULLET! YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!

Alex: * striking me with the clippers * YOU TAKE MOOLIT AND SHOVE EET IN POOP-HOLE, BASTARD! SA-MI BAG PULA IN PISDE MA-TI, RAHAT DE AMERICAN!

well, clearly, i had won the moral argument. but i lost badly in both the physical and profanity categories.

so i fixed it.



hrrmmph.

i think we can all agree that clearly, the 'moolit' looks better on my son.

but if you ever, EVER, mention this to my wife, i will NOT back you up, man.