Bernie is shaving the boys’ heads. There’s a basement to clean up, furniture to move, taxes to assemble, grocery shopping to be done, but now, Bernie is giving our usually handsome boys homemade haircuts. The new clippers were purchased for the day that I want to go from pixie to cue ball in the privacy of our own bathroom. But because I haven’t required them yet, and this is yet an untested gadget, little (and not so little) boys must play with new toys.

I suppose we’re all a bit bored. I’m certainly bored with my rather constant state of less-than-me. I am well enough to do really mundane mommy tasks, but too queasy to cook anything substantial. I’m trying to stave off grumpiness about my sandpaper mouth that turns the taste of nearly everything to the inside of an old can. And the few things that are still palatable don’t necessarily agree with my sour stomach. So there it is for those of you who are so kind and lovely to ask. The State Of Britt: yes hair, no appetite, uncharacteristically irritable, and soon… calling for two appointments at Supercuts. (Bernie searching for his facelift scissors does not bode well.)

What I really want to do is leave the house. If I didn’t have to worry about catching the evil humors that lurk outside, I would have whisked the boys off for their usual local trim and lollipops, sparing us inevitable crooked bangs and clogged drains. I’m usually a pretty happy homebody, and it has only been 9 days of germ-avoiding lockdown, but this forced isolation makes me focus more on the mess of shearing little boys, rather than the fun of it. It also allows too much time for morbid ruminating. I read the scary sections of the pink books with their fuzzy, reassuring fonts. And now I’ve tossed them aside in favor of stories with better endings, or geez, stories that are just better stories.

Turns out, The Big Cancer Fight is boring. The everyday work of it is tedious, uncomfortable, and lacks any flavor. Over the next few months, I’ll be looking to the two things that comfort me the most: marking off days on the calendar (which can’t be stopped) and Him (ditto). But now, here are my little boys: shorn and happy and thinking they look just a little bit more like Jeremy Lin. Bernie, of course, did a fantastic job. The furniture still needs to be moved, taxes acknowledged, groceries bought, and now the bathroom is a hairy disaster. But these fun boys are doing their messy best to make it less boring. A-Ma is here, too. And she wants to discuss what kinds of bras I should be wearing…


Dapper boys straight from the Hair by Daddy Salon

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