My Mohawk Man

My darling husband has a way of. . . persuading me into things. His eyes do this sort of droopy sad stare thing, and his lips do this pouty pouty frown thing that drives me nuts, his shoulders shrug and then hunch and SERIOUSLY he looks like a four year old kid sitting in the candy isle at walmart guilting mom into buying a treat.

I cant say no to him.

ever.

So the other day when I cut him off with an "ABSOLUTELY NO" before he could finish asking if I would cut his hair into a mohawk, his whole charade began:

"But I've always wanted one and I finally can have one because I'm not living in my parents house, on a mission, attending BYU, or working at a job that prohibits it, this summer is the only time in my life when I can have one and the only thing that's stopping me is you PLEASEpleasePLEASEplease Manda PLEASE!!!!"

ugh, I know right?

I'm horrible if I say no.

I can hardly look at him if I say yes.

So I invested in a bandanna to permanently cover my eyes for the next 4-6 weeks.

My husband is sporting a mohawk that he blow dries, straightens and styles every morning.

He loves it, it makes him happy, so I guess it makes me happy too.