So about two weeks ago I gave my 4-year-old son a trim. He was OK with it, though the whining started as soon as the little pieces of hair began falling down his neck. When the wife returned home, she wasn’t thrilled. “Uh, you missed A LOT of spots,” she said.
“Like where?” I replied.
“Like, the boy has payot.”
She was sorta right. Hence, tonight—after we returned from a glamping trip—I sat Young Slim down and tried touching things up.
Here’s the result …
I warned the wife not to scream. To her credit, she didn’t scream. She just looked really, really, really upset.
Needless to say, tomorrow morning the boy and I will be visiting the nearby barber to plunk down $15 on his second trim in two days.
Oy.
