That guy knew what he was talking about.
B got in the shower the other day and got out 10 minutes later. He came down in a towel, all shiny and clean and pink, and with one completely dry head of hair.
"Um, did you wash your hair, dude?"
"Um, ok, but you hair's, um, dry...."
"No it's not. I washed it."
(mom holds up mirror) "Buddy, it's dry. I know I didn't hear the blowdrier."
(son gazes in mirror for a minute). "Errrr."
"Get back in the tub and wash your filthy hair already."
And then my precious first born baby boy shot me a look. A Look. A look that said, "Woman, I am 8 and one half years old. This hair, it's my hair. I will wash it exactly as often as I choose to. I enjoy smelling like a horse and it is no longer your job to monitor my activities in the shower."
And then I shot my precious first-born a look. A Look. A look that said, "Child, I don't give a rat's ass how old you think you are. That hair, I made that hair. It's my hair for 9 and one half more years. See these 263 stretch marks? Feel this massive curvature in my spine? I got those so you could have that hair. I did not gain 105 pounds and get permanetly fused vertebrae so that you could walk around smelling like a horse. Go wash your motherfucking hair. Now."
My look won. I love that I still have better looks.