A Number Four, Please

Andrew followed in the steps of his younger brother to get his hair cut this afternoon. For some reason, he loves going to the barber. I don't know if it's the attention, the spritz of water, the ticklish brush or the lollipop at the end, but the trip becomes the highlight of his week.

The two boys and I arrived at the barbershop and Andrew arranged himself in the chair. The barber turned to me and asked, "What number do you want today?" To which I replied eloquently, "Huh??"

I tried to save face by quickly adding, "Just make it shorter all around." But then he tried to get all technical by asking where exactly did I want it to be shorter, how much did I want left at the top and whether or not there should be a lot of hair left around the ears. Are you kidding me? When did a boy's hair get so complicated? We're talking about a head that normally doesn't even see a brush every morning (one of the perks of being a boy).

Now I realize I should have known better, given that I am outnumbered by males in my household and I grew up with two older brothers, but I had no earthly idea what number haircut we needed. At least I knew that number referred to the length, but that was the extent of my knowledge. The very helpful and friendly barber looked around the barbershop, trying to find a picture that would give me an idea. But it was, after all, a barber shop, not a beauty parlor. It's not like there were old Cosmos lying around to give you ill-informed ideas about what you'd like to do with your hair.

In the end, the barber decided to do a number four. "I can make it a number three by cutting it again, but I can't make it a number four by gluing back the hair that I've cut," he said.

So if you ever need to take Andrew to the "haircut store", as he calls it, remember that he needs a number four.