‘Mom, I need a haircut,’ my eldest son Jan who’s sixteen told me. He’s been sporting this terrible ‘emo hairdo’ which looks like some toddler took a pair of scissors to it. And I actually had to páy to get it looking like that…
I took a look and indeed: his hair was finally looking normal again.
‘Why don’t you let it grow for a while longer,’ I tried. ‘And then comb it back, instead of letting it hang like a curtain across your face.’
‘Fail!’ Jan declared.
‘But you would look so good,’ I tried. ‘You’re such a handsome boy, and it’s alright to show it!’
‘Mom, why don’t you just give up,’ Jan advised me.
‘But it’s part of my secret plan to get you a haircut I actually like!’
For a moment there was silence, then he said: ‘But now you’ve told me, it’s no longer a secret.’
Then it was my turn to be silent. To buy some time I took a sip of my tea, and then it was my turn to say: ‘Fail!’
