My Parents Hate My Haircut

Over Thanksgiving, I got a rather drastic haircut. I went from the non-descript, medium length, standard woman-in-her-thirties hairdo that I had kept for the last four years to this:

(Needless to say, this is not me. This is singer Kina Grannis.)

And I LOVE my asymmetrical bob. The short length feels liberating. I can just just crawl out of bed, spray some product, and walk out the door. And the edginess reflects my personality better than the borderline soccer-mom thing I had going before.

My parents, however, have yet to get used to this look. They maintain a continuous commentary on it:

When I came home from the salon--
Dad: Did the stylist forget to cut the other side?

While I'm getting ready in the morning--
Mom: This haircut will make your neck hurt because you have to tilt your head to the side all the time. 

After I declared that I was drunk while we were in Mexico--
Dad: Was your stylist drunk too when she cut your hair?

While at immigration line at the San Francisco Airport, upon returning from Mexico.
Dad (gazing at the pretty Air Japan flight attendants): The hairstylists in Japan must be more skilled because all of those women's haircuts are even.

This morning--
Mom: I'm making a hair appointment for Saturday morning.
Dad: Are you taking your daughter with you?
Mom: Her haircuts cost $60. Mine cost $20.
Dad: If we pay another $60 do you think they'll cut the other half?
Mom: No need. I'll just cut her hair in her sleep.
Me (from the hallway): I'M UP! I'M UP! DON'T YOU DARE!


I am THIS close to getting a mohawk just to see what Mama and Papa Fung would say...