A Haircut Too Far!

Okay, so let’s find a large cardboard box to climb into and imagine it’s the DeLorean from Back To The Future. Those of you with artistic tendencies may opt for detailing the exterior to mimic the real thing. That’s fine with me.

Now, we’ll set the dial for the not-so-distant date of yesterday! Twenty-four hours ago, my COVID19 hairstyle resembled a shave brush. Yes, it grows straight up and out.

Enough was enough and on a recent trip to town, I had Tanya pick up hair clippers.

About an hour later, seated on a lawn chair on the back deck, with pedestal mirror in hand, I commenced my first-ever self-propelled haircut. Now, this skull rug is no stranger to the clippers, but they’re usually handled by a professional.

I shrugged off the clipper guides and went bare blade. Who cares in this new reality? It could be two moons before my next shearing.

I dug in deep and soon clumps of hair, with far too much gray, tumble weeded across the deck, entangling any unfortunate insect that crossed its path.

Our youngest daughter came out to observe and uttered the words every father “wants” to hear. “Dad, you look creepy!”

A courageous youngster, she pushed her disgust aside and offered to help, which I took gratefully. She worked the back, but eventually proclaimed it hopeless and suggested Tanya finish the job.

I must say the pruning was most liberating! I swear I’ve developed a sixth sense; I mean, I can feel everything! The last time I was this bald, my behind was wrapped in diapers.

My head is now an organic weather satellite, at one with the jet streams. I’m certain that no butterfly can pass above without my detection.

Proud of the newly acquired ability, I went to peacock my new look to our oldest. If I’d entered her room with my nose cut off, her face would have betrayed less horror.

Humbled, I exited quickly, but not before I heard her whisper these words to her classmates on Zoom. “My Dad just cut his hair and it’s frightening!”

Oh well, hair grows back and I’m saving on shampoo.

In the meantime, I’m grateful to the professional folks at North Shore Construction for gifting me with the perfect shame saver.

baldy

Creepy!

Northshorelid

The remedy!

Avoid Cooper Ridge Road!

Okay, so part of the good-ole fitness program is to walk/run down the stagecoach trails that pass for roads in my neck of the woods (literally). Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE where I hang my Daniel Boone hat and wouldn’t trade the daisies for streetlamps, not even for a Klondike bar.

Over the sixteen years I’ve lived out here, I’ve crossed paths with deer, wild turkeys, coyotes, a fisher, and even once had a too-close encounter with a bear. It was a good thing that not all of the stuffing between my ears has been blown away, by those nasty nor’easter’s we get up here in the attic of North America. There was enough sense tumbling about in there, to stave off the temptation to high tail it. The nearest bruin-proof structure was over a mile, that’s approximately 1.60934 kilometers for us metric folks.

Anywho, that’s quite enough claptrap about (or aboot) that, if you wish to subscribe to the stereotypical Canuck (Canadian) accent. None of these adventures with our furry and feathered co-habitants of this big, blue marble, can compare with the trippy experience, of the bovine kind, that sent me spiraling down a worm hole, questioning my sanity. I’ve always believed that it was at least held intact by the same string used to package meat, but it’s become apparently evident that my perception was just a tad bit off. Here is proof that it’s being hung by a thread soaked overnight, in the corrosive beverage that supposedly eats roofing nails.

Okay, alright, I’ll shut my bone box. Sorry, just slinging a bit of Victorian slang your way. Now, I’m just nutters about those picture books, and especially them pop-up storybooks. Actually, kinda creeped out by them, ’cause, you can’t surprise them . . . just you try sneaking up on Rikki-Tikki-Tavi at three am. I’ll just let these photos and captions spill the beans about what went down on that horse trail named Cooper Ridge Road.

“Hey, hooman! Yup, I’m talkin’ to you, ya bipedal walking stick.”

Me: “Eh?”

 

“Wanna come stand by this tree?”

Me: “Uh, nope.”

 

“Psyche! You can’t, ’cause yur not one of us. See, we got this here tree blocked, just try and lean against it. Dare ya’!”

Me: “Why would I even wan–”

 

“You smell kinda funny. What is that stink?”

Me: “Uh, soap and deodorant.”

 

“Kin’ ya do this?”

Me: “Hmmm . . . nope. I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous.”

“Shorty tongue! Shorty tongue . . . hooman is a shorty tongue! Mooohaha!”

 

“Melvin doesn’t like ya.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

“Wanna hear what happened to Bob? Awfully good tale, true story.”

Me: “Sure, why not? Can you tell it in a picture?”

 

 

 

Me: “Nope! I call bullsh**! Not willing to suspend my disbelief on that one!

So, that my friends, is why I no longer haul myself down Cooper Ridge Road.

 

Happy Saturday! Relax like a Boss Panda!

Happy Saturday! Well, for many of you this is a break from the daily grind. Unfortunately, I’ve got a long day at work ahead of me, sixteen hours, to be exact (blah!).

Despite the arduous day ahead, I wanted to keep up my commitment to maintaining a more regular blog.

I hope you find a daily chuckle below!

turkeysbyhouse

“I swear on it, Edna! The last time I went by this house, they had Tom, well it looked like it could have been Tom, in some large metal tub thing! He was naked, very tanned, and they were giving him a bath with some type of squeezy thing! The most disturbing thing was that I couldn’t see his head! Think about it. We haven’t seen him for months, for months! Why won’t any of you listen to me?”

“Oh, Margaret, you poor bird brain. You have such a wild imagination! Everyone knows that those things only eat food that comes from a box or a can. Please stop this, right now!”

 

scaredpug

“Promise me that if you see one of those nasty, big-eared, hoppy things, you’ll put me back in your purse! I mean, what kind of creature twitches it’s nose like that?”

 

hairyhorse

“Okay, ha, ha. Joke’s over. Did you get all the photos you wanted? Did ya have to invite your friends over to point and laugh at me while you eat, what are those things called again? Oh, right, I think I can remember, ‘horse nerves’ or something that sounded like that. You know you’re getting on mine, right? Fun’s over! Take this giant wig off me, right now!”

dadeyescovered

“Okay, Daddy. You remember the song, right? He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake. He knows when you’ve been bad . . . let’s find out, right now, if you’re as good at this as the jolly old fat guy.”