Snip snip
Happy weekend(!), but do weekends even matter anymore? They're starting to feel, to me, more like stretches of time you have to fill with either a) something in your house that you put off all week or b) yet another (literal) walk in the park. And as I've been furloughed for 6 weeks at this point, this is my every day, only weekends mean I can't as easily hide my lazy stretches of time lying on the couch or in bed or in the bathtub, mindlessly scrolling recipes, from my husband.
I'll be cutting Jamie's hair at some point this weekend. I very reluctantly did it at the start of April, falsely encouraged by a sharp new set of shears, a YouTube video, and his threat of doing it himself. One hour and a set of tears later ("Oh wow, you went really short!" he exclaimed from the bathroom after my initial pass with the clippers), it...wasn't bad. It wasn't real-life good, but definitely video call good enough.
He doesn't know it yet, but he may get to repay the favor by helping my tint my eyelashes (does this count as a DIY project?). I really enjoy dragging leading Jamie on these brief jaunts into the land of womanhood with me. He's one of 3 boys (and not even the sort of boy families forged around the poop humor I had so much exposure to as an only girl), so if you saw a Venn diagram of our childhood my circle would be a light blue Cover Girl eyeshadow sticks (whyyyyyyyy), the classic coming-of-age-hand-me-down tan Ford Taurus, and the before-mentioned poop humor, while his would consist of healthy English sports and walks in the country and Bovril on toast and the only real overlap for us would be...I don't even know. A love of bacon and our grandmothers, typical oldest child stuff, and holes in the knees of our pants.
I just have so, so much to teach him.
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