Hairy Son

I know it’s a bit untoward to complain about your kids in a public forum like this… but what if the kid in question is a 28 year-old couch potato who refuses to wash his hair? I mean, if he was insisting on this from some sort of ethical or health-related standpoint, I’m sure I could find it in myself to get behind it, despite my reservations about what people will think. That’s not it, though. He really doesn’t feel like it.

Yes, times change. But what’s a father to do? I’m just concerned that he’s going to be increasingly yeti-like over time, until he’s eventually captured by the military or something. Julian, for his part, thinks I’m being extreme about it – maybe even offensive. But I just can’t come to terms with the whole thing.

To add insult to injury, we live in South Melbourne. Luxury hair salon options are a dime a dozen around here, which makes Julian’s look (so to speak) stand out all the more. On the plus side, I sense that he’s finally starting to come around to the notion. I’m not sure why, and part of me has to wonder if it’s a trick… how so, I couldn’t tell you, but it’s a suspicious scene to say the least.

I don’t know how we managed to turn out such a disparate pair of children. Laurel is obsessed with hair styling and make up, perhaps to a fault. At least she’s into the good stuff, like those Aveda products she’s always buying. I’m less approving of her lavender dye job – I think it makes her look like Andy Warhol; even worse, I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s going for.

Julian is the complete opposite. He probably couldn’t even tell you what colour Andy Warhol’s hair was. In fact, he probably couldn’t tell you what colour my hair is, or his mother’s. He just doesn’t have a shred of interest in any of it.