Of The Summer Crop
The one when the brat had to get a haircut…
The offspring had a haircut last week. Now why is this momentous, you might ask validly? After all, in the 11 years that he has been on this planet as a part of the race, he has contributed on a bimonthly basis to the flotsam of the snipped hair on assorted salon and barber shop floors.
But this was a haircut with a difference. For one, this was one in which he was accompanied by the pater. For another, it is the summer upon us. Let’s put things in perspective here. For years and years, I have been the sole adult responsible for the grooming of this child, and I am an indulgent parent. I allow him to sit in the barber’s chair, the cape snugly around him, dictating terms to the person in charge of shearing him to presentable in public levels. “Cud liddle frum d side and liddle frum the top and keep dis part longly.”
This often has had the unhappy consequence of him emerging from the salon with his hair gelled to gravity defying levels in a vain attempt to make himself look taller, never mind that I look at him and wonder if I should have just thrown the money I spent into the waste paper basket given that barely a millimetre seems to have been reduced from the circumference of his foliage.
Read the rest here.