I went to visit my parents Friday night, on my way to go camping on Saturday (which I’ll write about later). I was desperately in need of a haircut (again), not because I waited too long like last time, but because, apparently, I have been shampooing with Miracle Gro and the lights in my house have been functioning as grow lights (note: if any law enforcement officers are reading this, I’m speaking figuratively. There are no grow lights in my house, I am not a pot farmer. There may or may not be a moonshine still in the backyard, I’m pleading the fifth.) Man, do I get off of the subject easily. I have the attention span of a mentally challenged four-year-old girl in a field full of ponies and ice cream.

Anyway, I made some sort of comment about needing a haircut, and my dad’s eyes lit up. Now, when this happens, there are only two results. The first option? He has a great idea. My dad is an extremely smart man, and his great ideas are truly great. The second option is that he has a terrible idea that he thinks is great, in fact, it may rival the invention of the cotton gin in its sheer greatitude (I made that word up, and I really like it. Maybe it’s not as “hip” as teenage slang like “funky-fresh,” “dope,” or “erectile dysfunction,” but I’m no teenager). Unfortunately, since he is used to having his real great ideas work out so well, he has a hard time seeing the bad ones. Let me add, as a disclaimer, that about 85% of his ideas are great, and the other 15% aren’t nearly as bad as my “good” ideas.

I am going to get to the point eventually, I promise. Dad told me that I should go to the guy who cuts his hair since I was in town. I told him I was leaving the house around 8 in the morning since we had some work to do where we were camping, so that wasn’t an option. When he informed me that the guy was open for business at 7 AM, and that he had a coupon so the haircut would be half price, I was all ready to go ahead with it and go get a quick haircut in the morning. Until Dad dropped the bomb… “Try not to stare at his glass eye.” Right. Now, I know a little about a whole lot of stuff, and a whole lot about nothing useful (play me the first few bars of almost any rock song made between 1960 and 1995 and I can name the artist, song title, and sometimes the album, which is only useful never) but I do know that merely closing one eye severely affects depth perception. I’m guessing losing one entirely has a similar effect. Merely conjecture, I’m no medical professional (but I do play one on TV).

Even if Dad had a coupon where the guy actually paid me $50 to get my hair cut, I’m not letting anyone with poor depth perception near my head with sharp cutting objects and razors near my head, especially early in the morning, when he may still be a bit sleepy. I don’t know how many of you are familiar with human anatomy, but my head is where I keep my brain, eyeballs, ears, and other useful organs. Sure, occasionally I like to wear an eyepatch and pretend I’m a pirate (Aaaarrrggghhh! Surrender yer booty!), but I don’t want to really lose my eye for when I’m in one of my many non-pirate moods. I explained all of this to dad (well, I may have left out the pirate part. It didn’t seem relevant.), and he understood my concern, but I think he’s going to keep going back to the guy. So for those of you who know my dad, keep your eye out (sorry…bad pun) for some designer eyepatches.