The rats had overtaken the house, at least there was evidence of them. Around corners, darting behind doors, creeping up stairs we'd catch glimpses of their ginger tails. Two years of growth had not only resulted in the one hair statement Mummum had sworn never to endorse, but the wee man was also well on his way to a minor league hockey career. There was no denying the mullet. So after more than two years, and much humming and hawing, he was going to get his first haircut.
He seemed to enjoy the process, although I'm sure the life size Thomas that served as his chair, copious toys and bubble blowing, all played a part. Now that the first is one over, I may well just slap a bowl on his head and trim away. I haven't actually counted, but I'd be happy to wager that at his salon of choice the going rate was close to a dollar hair.