You can see it in his face, he hates having his hair cut. In fact, he hates having his hair cut or washed or brushed. I don’t know why. Perhaps, deep down, he thinks his strength is in his hair like a modern-day Sampson. All I know is that getting him to sit in a salon chair, let alone sit STILL, is no mean feat.
Thank god for the wonderful kids’ hair salons we have on the Gold Coast. With racing cars, pink barbie cars, and ride-upon horses, the kids are easily enticed to choose one and sit down. In front of them, bright pink TVs, playing any movie of their choice.
Now, don’t get me wrong – it was still hard to get him in the chair, even if it was identical to Jeff Gorvette, but after much bribery of icecream and a swim we succeeded.
He wasn’t happy. Not in the slightest. And the look he gave the hairdresser could have easily turned her to stone, much like the glare of Medusa. But she made sure she never gazed into his eyes, and so she remained in her human-like state.
With his haircut, he stomped out of the salon without even a thank you. It was more of a grunt. But at least we succeeded in getting his hair cut. Now I don’t have to threaten him with putting his hair in a ponytail for at least another 6-8 weeks. And then we’ll go and do it all over again.