Lockdown Locks Blues

As you can see from my profile picture I seldom trouble the hairdresser.

Nor does Fester.

The boys however are, or were, regular visitors to the barbers; both for haircuts and shaves.

Thunderthighs visited the barber for a close crop shortly before lockdown and, although his hair is long for him it’s not reached anywhere near the lengths of boys’ hair in my youth (60s and 70s).

Ferretfingers, on the other hand, needed a haircut when he broke his ankle on 7^th February and now has a headful of curly bouffant locks.  He keeps asking when the barber will reopen.

Thunderthighs only ever uses an electric shaver.

Ferretfingers is happy to use a wet safety razor; anywhere on his body from head to toe. 
I keep telling him that he only needs to do his face, but legs, torso and anywhere he can reach gets a shave when he's in the bath. 

We think he managed to nick his wound a while ago which is why we’ve been having fun with infection, cellulitis, photos emailed to and phone consultations with the GP, anti-biotics and dressings over the past week (it’s a lot better this morning thank you).

He also has access to his late uncle’s beard trimmer.

One more than one occasion his sideburns have vanished well into his hairline; giving him the look of one of the Normans on the Bayeux Tapestry.

Once he took off his eyebrows.  I couldn’t work out what was wrong with his face and wondered whether I’d had a stroke.  Until the penny dropped.  He looked like a cross between the Pilsbury Dough Boy and the Mekon.

So when I heard the beard trimmer going for longer than usual last night I went to investigate.

As well as no sideburns the left hand side of his forehead is now a good inch higher than the right, stubbly and his widows peak is more of a W than a V.

I’ve done my best to make the top of his face a little less asymmetrical.

But he still looks like something out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Before beard-trimmer-gate
I'm not taking an after