The sheep are back in the farm at the back of our house. As a result our mad dog has parked himself at the fence, getting very excited and wagging his tail. He’s been doing this for 3 hours and showing no signs of getting bored.
If it keeps him happy…
Meanwhile inside it’s the dreaded artistic adventure.
“Dad can you cut my hair”
Trying to convince him that a trip to the hairdressers would result in a much better final product than the usual dad disaster.
“No no no. I’m not going to have a stranger cut my hair. I’d rather take a risk on one of your shockers…”
So we started. I could feel my hands shaking. My IBS gripping my insides.
“Dad did you know you stick your tongue out when your cutting my hair”.
I do it every time I panic. I also strangely do it when I watch my football team play.
“Dad you didn’t tell me that you had bought a hair trimmer.”
Didn’t have the heart to tell him I was using the Dogs trimmer.
“Are both sides of my hair supposed to match.”
“You don’t think you have taken too much off my fringe.”
Now you mention it that was a bit brutal.
“Looks like I’ve got one hairstyle on the left and a different one on the right.”
Technically speaking it’s a highly scientific mix of layering and blending… Or just one massive mess up.
“Next time do you think I should grow my hair long. Maybe I would be like Hercules, instead of being super strong I might be super intelligent or be able to read.”
I tried to boost his confidence again. I wish I could find some new words of wisdom. The words I use seem tired and ineffective. I also mentioned my experimentation with 80s metal hair. Unfortunately rather than look like a rock god I ended up looking like Cousin It (Adams Family). This made him laugh. That’s about the only thing I seem to be able to do these days.
Eventually the ordeal was over. Out of 10 I was given a 4. Which is 2 higher than the last one and considerably better than the 0 I got last summer. Let’s see what the dog is up to. Still sheep watching.
“Dad that sheep has my hair cut”.
Sadly I agree.