So here’s how I ended up with a mullet.

My mom went out of town for the weekend, probably expecting peace and normalcy. Huge mistake. Within hours, my dad looked at me and said, “Wanna do something your mom would probably say no to?”

Obviously, I said yes.

Next thing I know, we’re at the barber shop and my dad tells the guy, completely serious:
“He wants a mullet. Business in the front. Party in the back.”

I didn’t fight it. The sides came off. The back was left long and majestic. I looked in the mirror and swear I heard a guitar solo in the distance. It was beautiful.

Then Mom came home.

She froze, stared at me, and just said, “Is this a joke?”
I shook my glorious flow and said, “Nope.”

At first, she was horrified. But after a few days, even she admitted I pulled it off. Now she kinda loves it. Dad’s still bragging about it. And me?

I’ve never looked back.
(Except to admire the back—because let’s be honest, it’s the best part.)