"Hello,"

I answered the phone. "How are you?" she asked, in a tone that made me suspect that the answer wouldn't be "Fine." when I returned the question, but I asked it anyway, "I'm fine...how are you?" "Oh, I just got back from getting my hair cut." "And...?" What she said next struck a chord of terror somewhere deep in my soul.

"I think I might have a mullet."

Guiltily, I realized that somehow over the years I've managed to transmit my irrational fear of the multi-level hairstyle to several of my friends and family.



So of course I didn't just hang up and leave her wondering. I went over to confirm. And marched her back to the hairdresser, as fast as the time I marched there myself when she told me, "Val, don't freak, but, your hair...""Whatwhatwhat?!?!" "You're looking a little...mullet-y."

Flashbacks brought to you by a colossally bad hair day - as bad as it can get without my having a mullet, anyway.