Mull it over.
When I was 16 years old, I had a bit of a bizarre summertime hobby. I would spend those long, hot days traversing Broken Arrow- combing every Wal-Mart aisle and every bowling alley lane- looking for people with mullets. I always had a disposable camera on hand (remember those?) to snap photos of the various types of mullets I encountered. At first, I used the hey-friend-stand-over-there-I’m-going-to-pretend-to-be-taking-a-photo-of-you-but-the-subject-is-actually-Billy-Ray-Cyrus-behind-you method to get the snapshots I desired. As I became more bold, I started to use the oh-my-gosh-you-look-EXACTLY-like-my-uncle-I-happen-to-have-a-camera-can-I-please-get-a-picture-to-show-him? method.
I had a mulletin board in my room. I had a 40 page mullet scrapbook titled Mull and Void. It was a big hit with my friends. In the scrapbook, I named and rated each mullet on a 10-point scale. For obvious reasons, bonus points were awarded to wearers of the permed mullet.
Why was I so intrigued with the Missouri compromise? (My favorite mullet synonym, by the dubs!) I’m a fan of a free and open exchange of honest information, and I’m pretty much an open book, so be warned: we’re about to journey into the darkest secret of my life.
I, Lauren E. McKinney, had a mullet.
I don’t know a lot about the specifics- I was quite young. It started out like this:
…and then it got longer, so my dad took me to Supercuts one day (naively thinking he was just getting my bangs trimmed) and somehow something terrible happened and I came home with a mullet. Ever the optimist, he assured my horrified mother that my new haircut looked “rock n’ roll”.
It doesn’t end there. My parents thought I looked so awesome that I had this mullet for two whole years. I cannot believe my preschool teachers didn’t call DHS.
Of course, I was blissfully unaware of my mullet, and it was the 80’s, and it was Oklahoma, so I think mullets were kind of quasi-acceptable- especially for a little kid like me who was a huge Stryper fan. (To hell with the devil!) But I sure rocked that thang in Sunday School. I made it work:
I think I got rid of the mullet at age 6 or so? My life was never the same. However, for all my shame, I must admit- that mullet made me who I am. It was a part of me for two very formative years. When future scholars of pediatric hairology find these photos, I hope they smile. I hope they know I loved my life.
Mullets build character, people. MULLET YOUR CHILDREN.
Because I have just shared this embarrassing history of my coiffure (and because my birthday is almost here), I am asking you, most excellent reader, to respond by sharing a colorful description of the worst haircut of your life. Please go into excruciating detail. Thank you.