Every six or seven weeks, Ben gets his haircut. Although, left to his own devices, he’d go longer in between appointments. BUUUUUT...he's a married man and his wife makes sure to nag remind him when he’s due for a trim. If it weren't for me, Ben's hair would be long and lustrous, and our girls would spend hours and hours brushing and braiding his man-mane. Hours and hours occupied and out from under my feet. [Inside thought: I wonder if Fabio babysits?]
“Ben, don’t forget to call for a haircut.”
“Gah! I hate getting my hair cut.”
[I said haircut, not a dialysis appointment.] ...Continue Reading »
