As I was preparing for the big event, I made a pile at the top of the stairs: clippers, check; towel, check; Mickey Mouse on DVR for distraction, check. I left said pile and started a bath for the hair flying aftermath. That was when I heard it. The clanging and banging. There went the pile of stuff down the stairs. I should have known better. That is one of Michael's favorite things to do...throw/roll things down the stairs. The clippers didn't make it through the event, they broke into 3 pieces.
I hunt down G's trimmer and set the dial to what I guess is the appropriate number and length. Michael wouldn't let me get a test strip and I would have to be quick about the whole cutting/buzzing thing lest there be an all out war in our house. So my first pass on his head was right down the middle. Uh-oh....it's short. Really short. Crap. And it's not like I could readjust the number and have him struttin' around with...with...what would be the opposite of a mohawk? A no-hawk??
As I continued cutting his hair, I rationalized the butchering that was taking place:
- it's still summertime and this will keep him cool
- it'll be the perfect length when school pictures roll around in September
- he won't have to suffer through another haircut for quite awhile
- it was his fault for breaking the clippers...probably on purpose too (it couldn't have been my fault for leaving them out)
- it is waaay easier to style
- he definitely won't be able to twirl his hair
- he looks pretty darn spiffy with short hair
So by the time I finished cutting his hair, I wasn't feeling guilty at all and thought it turned out fine......very short, but fine.
1 comment:
I think You have found your new career!!!!
See you soon! we will do dinner! Kath
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