In the Defense of My Sister

With all this new found fame, I would like to take a moment and write a piece "in the defense of my sister":

As much as I poke fun at her, I understand (and believe you should too) that my sister's haircut when she was a little girl was not her fault.

In fact, it was intentional.

Every six weeks, my loyal mother would take us to her good friend, Barber Shop Joe, to get our hair cut and styled. 

Although talented, Barber Shop Joe knew one hair style and one hair style only: The feathered mullet.

Here is an example of what a typical family looked like as we passed each other to and from Barber Shop Joe's magic chair:

"Exhibit A"

Throughout the years of child abuse, opps, I mean salon days, Barber Shop Joe would repeat his motto to us: He firmly believed hair should be simple and convenient, yet sassy. 

Because it took extra time and energy to keep your hair away from your face by placing your long locks behind your ears, Barber Shop Joe made "our" (*my sister's*) life simple by eliminating the extra step and cutting off the "excess" hair that went from our (*her*) temples to about an inch past our (*her*) ear.

"Exhibit B"

As much as I would like to advise you that my mother realized the damage she may have been causing by allowing Barber Shop Joe to continue this abuse on us before Barber Shop Joe got to me, her innocent little baby, I mustn't lie to you.

My mother failed to recognize the signs of a fashion no no and by the fifth year of this torture... everyone in our family was given the feathered mullet.

"Exhibit C"

(Top Row-Right to Left: Adopted Cousin Nicole Marie, Barber Shop Joe's Best Client, My Mother's Perfect Little Angel. Bottom Row: My Monkey Cousin.)

However, lucky for the rest of us, Barber Shop Joe lost his disposable camera before he could capture our feathered mullets.

So... please let the record be clear, that my sister was not the only one that endured this torment.