Embarrassing trip to the barber’s

I love going to the hairdressers myself (despite my hairdresser being unable to cut my fringe for some reason – I always end up trimming it and sorting it out myself when I get home), and I think N quite likes going himself.  He likes going to my hairdressers because the receptionist and the hairdresser both like making a fuss of him, and he can spend time playing and showing them what he’s getting up to.  But he also doesn’t mind going to the barber’s to have his hair cut.

Although he probably needs to go more regularly (his hair grows really quickly over his ears), I tend to try and take him around the same time I get mine done which is usually every 10 weeks.  Thankfully his hair tends to keep its shape pretty well, so he doesn’t look too shaggy in between.

So this week was a trip to the barber’s.

I’m a cheapskate so I refuse to take him to the places in town which charge basically adult prices in the barber’s shops (£10, although I know children can be a nightmare and take just as long as a man’s cut, it still feels expensive).  Instead we trek out in the other direction to a small town near us where the little barber’s shop opens at 7.30 – I know we can whizz in there, but be back in the other direction for my appointment afterwards.

N loves to sit up on the booster seat so he can see what’s going on around him.  He sits really still, looking serious, although anyone walking round the room does make him turn to look.  He’s not quite got the idea that he can just see in the mirror what everyone’s doing, but generally sits really nicely, the way he’s told to.

I always ask for a smart boys look, trimming it short, and slightly swept over with a parting (although it doesn’t stay like that).   The woman’s great with him, and it’s usually just her in the shop at the moment as her daughter had a baby not so long ago.  It’s  a busy shop, after we arrived, there were 4 more men turned up in the queue so we definitely hit it at the right time.

Once his hair was cut, N got down from the chair.  Then what did he say?

‘Where’s the chocolate?’.  Cue me dying of embarrassment as the other waiting customers sniggered under their breath.

I didn’t quite know what to say, apart from ‘sorry, he’s so cheeky’.

Usually the children get offered lollies, but because he doesn’t have hard sweets yet, he gets offered a Freddo.  And of course he’d remembered.  Quite cute, but also embarrassing.

At least he said thank you when one was handed over, but I think that’s the most embarrassed I’ve ever been from something he’s said to date!  I suppose protocol should be to give a tip for the extras…