If You Talk To My Mommy...

...Tell her I need a haircut.

My hair is beginning to take over my head. It gets in my eyes so I can’t see and when I put food in my hair the food ends up on my long and luscious eyelashes. I know Mommy is hesitant to have it cut. She doesn't want me to lose my babyish good looks or lose the hair I was born with. Apparently, long hair is the style with young boys today. I guess the girls think it's "hot." In fact, a book publisher contacted my agent because they want me to model for the cover of a romance novel. This is going too far. Look how scruffy I'm getting:

I at least need a trim. That's all I'm asking. If not, then soon the other babies at story time will start pulling my hair. I can't allow that to happen because that's what I do to them. That's my thing! Hair is such a hassle. I have to comb it after breakfast every morning in order to get the oatmeal and eggs out.

And why won't my comb fit into this electrical outlet? Oh, right. Blasted receptacle covers!

I really need to talk with you, Mommy, about my hair situation. I'll wait for you at my viewing window until you come home. 

What!?! She won't be home for eight more hours? I can't wait that long! Okay, I'll sleep for four hours, eat for one to two and change clothes and play for a couple more. That leaves about 15 minutes of waiting time this afternoon. I can play with the curtains and watch the snow to help pass the time.