I have a big, important trip coming up that I'm sure you'll see pictures of in a few weeks. In order to get ready for the trip, Mom thought it would be a good idea for Dad and me to get haircuts, so we walked to Dad's regular barber.
I waited patiently as long as the champa kolas (small, sweet bananas) lasted.
By the time our whole family squeezed into the eight by eight foot shop with at least four other haircuts happening at the same time, I was pretty tired out, and remained mellow, if not very happy, throughout the process. The barber asked, "Number two, Number three?" and didn't say anything else the whole time, but was very thorough.
I enjoyed comparing the textures of Mom's, Dad's and my heads during the rickshaw ride home and took a good nap after rinsing all that fine, blond hair off in the tub.
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