The cruelest cut
The haircut was brief. It had to be. The scissors were as blunt as two blocks of wood. My son could not stand it.
‘‘Noooooooo Dad,’’ screamed through the Saturday morning air.
His plea for mercy did not go unheeded. Mainly because it sounded like the type of scream people call the police over.
It’s safe to say my first attempt to be my son’s hairdresser will be my last. We were both traumatised by the act itself and the result it yielded.
‘Thank goodness we’re in lockdown’, I thought.
If he’d had to go to school looking like he did there was a good chance he’d be expelled for crimes against pleasant appearances.
In any event, the haircut was the highlight of that Saturday morning.
My family adjusted to lockdown.
We find excitement and memories worth savouring with consummate ease. Our world has shrunk to our home, but it’s still full.
Until it isn’t. Which can come has living he still quickly under an instant after you believe you’ve got lockdown sorted. It’s a confusing time.
On one hand it is fantastic to have days unencumbered by appointments and obligations. Then on the other it is hellish to have days unencumbered by appointments and obligations. I’m hopeful, but naturally skeptical, that experience will result in a significant change in how we live our lives. Four weeks is a long time, but it’s not long enough to ensure a step change in the pace of life.
In many ways it is only whetting our appetite to get back to what we know – the dinners out, the weekend trips to the supermarket, the thrill of a new set of Egyptian cotton sheets or a bigger
TV.
But if it goes on for longer, well, it might just be we forget what we used to do and cement in our new life habits.
Fewer trips to the shops, calmer and slower social interactions and the realisation that you really can just hunker down at home and make do.
Such as using a knife sharpener to get those hairdressing scissors back into shape.
Just think of the money we’ll be saving, son.