Hair cuts

 

So, a bunch of quick takes for this one. I've been blogging a little less and investing in social media a little more, but that doesn't mean I don't have stories to tell!

For starters? 

The sweater.

AUGH!

It's made with chunky yarn, and the back and two front pieces are constructed all in one piece. And there I was, with only a few pattern repeats before I was done with the second side, when I saw the damned thing in the daylight.

Not the OTT light-- the DAYlight.

And the last time I'd started a ball of yarn--two pattern repeats on the back and about eight on the front--I'd started the WRONG WHITE.

So, most of the sweater was eggshell and these parts were GLARING WHITE.

And the funniest part of this scenario--you know, the scenario where I rip back scads and scads of yarn and then knit it up again with the right color--is that I walked into Babetta's and said, "So, I was knitting up Squish's sweater, and it's Plymouth Encore Chunky weight, and I realized I'd used the WRONG WHITE on a good ten pattern repeats--"

"Oh my God," she said. "Was one of them color 146 and the other color 250? That happens all the time!"

Gentle reader, these were, indeed, the colors I had confused. What impresses me here is that she didn't even need pictures. 

Anyway-- I have a picture here--I'm almost done with body of the sweater, on to the sleeves next. I'm

knitting an emergency keyhole scarf at the moment--don't ask. It's... well, it's complicated. 

So...

If you follow me on FB you know Squish's cat has confused himself with an apex predator again. Last night it was a GIANT moth, and she was TOTALLY squicked out. The cat, however, was dancing. "Didja see? Didja see what I did? I'm a sassy boi who KILLS MOTHS!"

Of course he is. 

And finally-- about the haircuts...

Baby Trump made a big deal about Nancy Pelosi getting her hair cut, but in fact it's legal in California as long as you follow the guidelines. And Matt has a friend from soccer who was happy to cut our hair. There's a salon complex in Rocklin--a few suburbs over--and it's neatly divided up into individual rooms, each room equipped with chairs and a shampoo station and all of the product that the particular stylist relies on--all meant to host one client and maybe a friend, only. I felt safer there than I do at the grocery store, for sure.

Anyway, Squish bailed--she had a sore throat, probably from allergies--but ZoomBoy and I went, and the following conversations resulted.

This first one was IN the salon room. As he was getting his hair cut, our stylist remarked that his beard was sort of growing in. She said, "Not quite ready to shave yet, are we?"

"I don't know how to shave my face," he said. "I need Dad to walk me through it."

"Well, you put the shaving cream on your face, shave with the whiskers, and rinse off the razor every time it swipes through the cream," I told him.

"Cream?" he asked puzzled. "I don't need cream when I shave my armpits in the shower."

And here is where I wish Blogger offered me a selection of .gifs, because I don't have words for my expression at the moment.

"You shave your armpits?" I said blankly. 

"Yeah, aren't you supposed to?"

"I'm sure it's fine," I said, "but that explains so much about what's been happening to MY RAZORS!"

"Oh. Was that bad?"

"I just need to replace them a lot more often!"

"Oh. Sorry. Can't I use them on my face?"

And I should just get him one of the Venus level razors with all the goop on it, and I'm pretty sure it will take care of his stubble AND moisturize. I... I just didn't realize boys were shaving their armpits now. I... I have no frame of reference.

So that happened.

And just a moment ago, I asked him if I could take a picture. "ihhhhh..." he whined.

"You don't like your haircut?"

"I like it fine! But you can see my neckbeard!"

No. No you can't. but I think that 12 pack of the super awesome ladies razors with the goop is coming right up.