Fandango and Ragtag with a bit of Black and White Tuesday thrown in for good measure, which is a thing of epic proportions and you should check it out. Today a haircut happened.
The aftermath of the scalping was met with itchiness, down the back, the front in his shorts, shouting from behind the locked bathroom door. I was allowed in to inspect from time to time as the new clippers from China completed their long journey across Asia and Europe to their ultimate destination to be intercepted by my son from the delivery man who was being barked at by the barking dog, then opened by me and stolen by my daughter to cut my son’s hair. How hard can it be, its not like there’s a network of self styled underground masked hairdressers butchering innocent children’s (mainly) previously styled and now overgrown pre-covid hairstyles. This is why it took over a month to get hold of some clippers, the black market for the instruments of destruction is hotter than the appetite for toilet roll was and for how hand sanitiser still is. I make do with a bar of Dove, not perfumed, not coloured, just kind, which is why i’ve injected it with Dettol and red food colouring after that idiot in America gave some sage advice. Washing your face is a real horror show, literally.
As the itching became too severe, hair scattered all over the bathroom, screams of laughter and distress, banging on the door from Mrs T to be allowed in. Not just yet, just got to cut in the lightening bolt and the standard bald patch caused by the protagonist trying to shave and text or snap chat at the same time. This is carefree hairdressing for the folk who really couldn’t care. A skin fade sir? I’m afraid its too late for that. He had a shower and smoothed him self down, the little irritations washed down the plug, putting on his dressing gown and roughing up his barnet led to an explosion of rage realising what the hell had occured, once its gone its gone, but it’ll grow back and if you cant fuck it up now then when can you? There again that reminds me of when Janus the Anus shaved “FUCK” into the back of my hair, under my instruction, must have been funny at the time, and thinking back to that time, I really didn’t care; and like others who weren’t so fortunate to be here now, was on a self destruct mission of invincibility.
Sashaying around the house in his dressing gown, hood up, my daughter remarked he looked like a monk,
“A Goddam Sexy Monk” was my 11 year-old’s reply, I could not have put it any better my self I don’t think. And with a flourish he whipped down his hood to unmask the amorphous, androgynous abomination and show it to the world. Just for a short time at which point he pilfered one of my bobble hats, which depressingly he looks better in than I do.