My sister was always the barber in the family. She would sit John down in the kitchen and work her magic. Ever since she died, he’s been resistant to getting haircuts.
In the tiny village where we were staying, he decided to be spontaneous at the “strong” encouragement of a local barber.
So away we were swept to his “shop” and he began his “magic”. The haircut went pretty well and he said “just little” about John’s beard. We both said, “Yes, just a trim”.
Unfortunately, a little is a lot in marachi (his native tongue) and more unfortunately, he managed to shave off half of John’s face before we could course correct.
I love John’s beard and I will miss it for the next few weeks, but there’s no turning back once half the beard is gone.
I only wish my sister was alive to laugh with us.
No comments:
Post a Comment