So after all the hair drama, Archer decided, over the weekend, that he was quite over not being able to see.
“Are you ready for a haircut?” I said.”You’ll be able to see, again. Might be kind of nice, don’t you think?”
Archer took me by the hand and happily walked us down the street and into our local barber shop. He sat down, hands at his sides, and smiled at himself in the mirror as the nice lady cut three inches of shag from around his head, bangs in his eyes included.
“What do you think?” we asked him when she finished and he climbed down off the barber chair.
“I think I look pretty handsome, actually,” he said in his matter-of-fact Archer way.
He was right.
And I was relieved. That haircut just killed five holiday gifts (let’s just say Archer’s long hair was not favorited by any of Archer’s grandparents or great-grandparents) with one $20 dollar bill.