Despite Efforts, Mullet Remains Hairstyle of Choice at Beach

 

Staying with family at the beach can be troublesome.

MYRTLE BEACH, SC – It’s hotter than a Chevy Nova with a bad radiator here on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean, and it is to my great sorrow that I discovered the re-birth of the mullet. 

Allow me to explain.

For the absolutely uninitiated, the mullet was the official hairstyle of the 1980’s, and it was a prominent part of the New Wave movement. Millions of men and women discovered the joys of a fully functional style that was “business in the front, party in the back,” and sported the bizarre crossbreed. As the Reagan decade came to a crashing halt with the rise of Pearl Jam and Nirvana, the nation came to its senses and opted to keep its hair at one length all the way around – whether short or long.

Except down South. For some reason, the mullet continued to dominate the region, perhaps due in part to the limited availability of cable television until the mid-90’s. Needless to say, thousands of otherwise intelligent and successful people continued to traipse across town in their mullets, until finally the governors of the South convened a meeting that resulted in the banning of mullets. All across Georgia, Alabama, and especially Florida police were partnered with hairstylists to comb the beaches to the reaches for men and women with imbalanced hair. It was thought that all mullets were retired as a result.

Until Sunday morning.

The sun broke through the sky and my family headed to the beach. Excited to have a full day of sun and fun before us, we hit the sands at 9:45 AM. The breeze was moving, the tide was out, and there weren’t too many people on the beach. We laid out our towels and gear, dressed Ella in her battle gear (I’ll attach a photo later) and pounded the surf for about an hour. After Rachel and I reached our saturation point for salt water, we pulled Ella out and went to our spot. Only, instead of the peaceful and restful perch we had secured, it had been violated by a 55 year-old woman in a low-cut one piece WITH A MULLET. Her husband was whiter than a polar bear’s butt, and they were both lying no less than three feet from our towels.

Normally, I’m not the kind of person to get squeamish at the beach. You wanna wear a thong? That’s fine, dude, go right ahead. You feel like you need the extra padding of a push-up bikini? Knock yourself out, sweetie, it’s your time to shine. There’s not a whole lot that can make me uncomfortable – within reason.

For some reason, the granny mullet freaked me out.

I mean, totally made me uncomfortable. To the point that I couldn’t stop staring.

Guys, you’ve been guilty of staring too long at someone on the beach. Usually your wife or your girlfriend clears her throat or asks what you’re looking at and you immediately stare at the sand, embarrassed for having lost your focus.

That was me. Only, I was staring at a mullet. On someone’s grandma.

I kept thinking in my head, “Wonder if they call her grandmullet?”

And I kept on staring. I wasn’t even bothered so much by her inappropriately low-cut bathing suit as I was her mullet. I would look at her hair, then glance at my daughter, like I was afraid she would suddenly sprout a mullet herself just from being near the woman.

Once I saw the mullet matriarch, I began to see them all over the beach. On young people, old people, small people, fat people, children, adults. I passed one kid who had a mullet WITH a RATTAIL! How in the heck is that possible? Who would let their kid do that?

Now, I’m surrounded by mullets. It’s mullet Nirvana here. Maybe there’s a mullet convention in town that I’m unaware of. Maybe it’s a two-part Locks of Love thing. Maybe I’m hallucinating from heat exhaustion.

I see mullet people. God help me.

 

And don’t even get me started on jean shorts…