He looks up smiling, then the smile turns to a frown and he says..."Your bangs aren't straight."
Stung, I retort, "My bangs are never completely straight. I have cowlicks." Which is the sad truth.
As if I had not spoken, he goes on to say, "Your hair is shorter in the middle. You should go back and make them fix your bangs."
It dawns on me that my husband is perhaps not familiar with the term 'cowlick'. But still, he lives with me, and by now, ought to be familiar with how my bangs look most of the time, which is definitely not straight, especially if I have just woken up or have been out in the rain.
As he's poking away at my bangs, still with that annoying little frown on his face, I suddenly realize what is about to happen. If I don't stop him he's going to fetch a pair of scissors and 'fix' my bangs for me. I am not exaggerating here! My husband is a bit of an amateur barber/hairdresser. He cuts my father's hair sometimes, and when we went on vacation with his family, he cut his brother's and his father's hair, although he very wisely refused to cut his mother's hair when she begged him to. Despite all this practice, he does not, shall we say, excel at this little hobby of his.
I had to forestall him, so I smacked his hand away and said, "Look, when your wife asks you what you think of her new hairstyle, the only correct answer is, 'You look beautiful!', NOT 'Your bangs are crooked!'"
He had the grace to look sheepish and assure me that my hair did-- mostly-- look great. Grrrrr.
This is why we need our girlfriends. My hair got lots of compliments at work today.