Get A Haircut!

In my ongoing quest to hasten the advance of middle-age, with all its attending quirks, I did something today that probably pushed me from middle age to early onset aging. What was it that I did, you ask? I wished this on someone:

That's right, little man, get a haircut!

Say what now? 'Get a haircut!' is what I said, invoking my father's generation with said declaration.

I'm interviewing interns for a role on my team. To date, the interviews have been on the phone and, rightly or wrongly, I refuse to make my way to BookFace to see what the prospective candidates look like or what shenanigans they may or may not be up to, as it really doesn't matter to me. I brought in one of the candidates today and as I soon as I saw him in our lobby, I suddenly became an elderly man, driving my Cadillac down the road, with one seat belt hanging out the door, creating a shower of sparks, muttering how the 'Commies will be the end of us and how every young man with long hair looks likes a girl and needs a haircut.

Yep, the kid needed a haircut in my book. The shaggy Bieber flop o'hair in the eyes may work on campus but I'm not certain of its workplace efficacy. So the flop-o-matic hair and the fact that he wasn't wearing a suit truly wore on my last nerve. But I'm nothing if not professional and I managed to put my desire to get him to a barber aside and was impressed with the smarts he demonstrated. I'm not going to discount him because he needs a haircut. But, man, get a haircut!

Good grief, I sound like I'm 72 years old. I'm not even a grandfather. Yet. That's right, the Boy Awesome has not arrived, but we are hopeful and are waiting, not so patiently, his arrival. So get here, little man, so I can feel a bit more justified in making comments about people needing haircuts!