Gone Feral.

The people have spoken. The little man needed a hair cut. 

Arranging a hair cut in the middle of the Jungle is sort of like arranging a drug deal. You find a "guy," who knows a friend of a friend, who knows someone who "cuts." We were given a time, 3:30 and we were sent to a place down the road called the Enchanted Forest. No joke. At said forest we were ushered into a little room that looked kind of like a yoga studio/tea room/ bedroom/ hair salon. And by salon I mean there was a chair, a mirror, a pair of scissors, and a pair of clippers. Oh, and about 6 dogs. We figured since it wasn't surgery this place was as good as any. 

I was then greeted by a girl far more Boho than I could ever be and she sat us down on the little stool, covered us in a sarong and went to work. 5 minutes later and quite a few tears later (by the LM of course), and about 8 pounds of hair later, our little Phil Donahue was now our little feral monkey. 

The result?


I think he looks too cute for words! The Husband even admitted that he looked much "cooler" (in temperature and in social standing.) I just can't stop rubbing his little head. It's so soft and fluffy. I'm so used to seeing ALL THAT HAIR that I love that his little face is now the first thing I see when I look at him. 

I'm sure we will grow it our for the Winter, but for now this will be his "Summer look."