Of mullets and men

Aaah, the many coifs of my husband...
From the very first day I met my man, he sported a lovely mane of blond tresses. His Steve-Clark-like 'do was one of the things that made me fall for him. (See pix with red guitar.)
Over time, his long hair went completely out of style, but he continued to wear it. He eventually cut it into a (yeesh) mullet. Once on vacation, we parked our car outside a gas station in Belleville, Kansas, and a truck full of high school boys slammed on their brakes and hollered out the window, "Hey, look! It's Joe Dirt!"
My husband felt honored by the semblance, but I'm pretty sure those boys weren't giving him a compliment. I could do nothing but laugh and roll my eyes.
Almost two years ago, when my husband quit drinking, he started going through some other changes in his life too. One day, he called me up and said he got his hair trimmed. When he got home, I discovered how much of an understatement he had made. (See pix with black guitar.) He cut most of his hair off. I couldn't believe how gorgeous he was, and I'm not the only one who noticed. He had girls hitting on him right and left after that during our band's shows. Wow.
Alas, he admitted that he felt uncomfortable without his security mop because it had always helped him stand out in the crowd. So, two weeks before Christmas, he got his hair cut again. This time he cut it into a mohawk which he had the beautician dye blue. (See pix with AC/DC shirt)
Being so close to Christmas and the family gatherings that accompany such events, I was less than enthused about his new look.
When I caught him a couple of weeks later getting a re-dye, I about lost it. The hairdresser, who was the wife of our band's drummer, refused to do his hair after that incident without my written consent. Of course, she was being dramatic, but I was upset. For cryin' out loud, a 33-year-old with blue hair?
My husband has since decided to leave his hair alone. Against my better judgment and our 13-year-old daughter's wishes, he's growing out his locks again. It's at that really icky in-between stage. He's kinda looking like Bo Duke on a shaggy day.
I really liked his short hair, but I know I don't like it when he tells me to grow my hair out long, so we've compromised: Neither one of us are going to tell the other how to wear our hair...as long as he doesn't grow another mullet.