It shouldn't come as any surprise, that when something doesn't quite go as planned in our house, usually my husband is behind it. A year or so ago someone gave him a deluxe clipper set, which as soon as he brought home, I told him in no uncertain terms to get rid of it. In case you think I am being unreasonable, I am still haunted by the afternoon we got together with our friends Cathy & Andy, and the guys decided to clip Cathy's dog - a beautiful Collie - at least she was before the grooming session. You wouldn't have recognised her as the same dog by the time they'd finished. So back to the clippers, there was no way I wanted Edward Scissorhands anywhere near my children.
A week or so goes by, and Rob decided it was time that Grady got a hair cut. I was going out, but reminded him again that he was to fork over the money and take Grady into a children's hairdresser and get it done properly, and off I go to run errands. Half an hour later I get a phone call from my husband. "Hello hon " he begins. I know immediately something is up - he rarely calls me "Hon" as in honey, it's more likely to be "Hun" as in Attila. You have to realise that he used to refer to me as his "Little Cuterebra", which I thought was so sweet until I found out that the Cuterebra is actually a parasitic infestation. Bastard.
Anyway, back to the phone call, of course my immediate response is "What have you done?". "Oh nothing" he replies, still in a suspiciously sugary tone. "I was just wondering what time you'll be home" he continues. Right, now I know for sure he's hiding something, he's usually only too happy to see me gone, he never, ever asks when I'll be home. To hell with the rest of my errands, I made it home in record time. Sure enough my worst fears were realised, he'd gotten trigger happy with the clippers and my poor son was now sporting a reverse Mohawk.
It turns out he hadn't read the instructions (will men never learn ?), he'd just plugged in the clippers and off he went. Unfortunately he used the wrong attachment and/or setting, but thank goodness he at least had the sense to start at the back of Grady's head instead of the front. He realised almost immediately that something was wrong, but even "almost immediately" still resulted in a 3" wide bald swath, starting at Grady's neck and ending half way up his skull. Vidal Sassoon he ain't. He had desperately hoped he could get Grady to the hairdresser and get it fixed before I came home, but there were two little flaws in his master plan. Firstly the hairdresser didn't open for another hour, and secondly there wasn't a hope in hell, unless he planned on gluing Grady's hair back on, it was going to get "fixed".
I won't repeat the subsequent conversation that took place, but you can probably imagine the gist of it. I think the phrases "ham fisted idiot and stupid git" featured pretty prominently. Astonishingly, Grady was completely unaware of what had happened. It never occurred to him to question why his father blurted out "Oh F***" and suddenly shut off the clippers in the middle of his would be hair cut. Fortunately Lindsay makes a habit of laughing at her brother all the time, so even her outburst of giggling didn't clue him in. Rob wasn't out of the woods yet tho', he still had to take Grady in to the hairdresser and explain what he had done. As far as I know they talk about it still.
I would really like to think Rob learned his lesson that day, but I have the sneaking suspicion he has the clippers stashed somewhere in the house, and that one day when I'm not around, he'll pull them out of their hiding place and try again.
No comments:
Post a Comment