We arrive home from Palm Springs, and within minutes I hear the hair clippers.
Then this emerges:
Brian: Silent and straightfaced.
Me: “Your mohawk is crooked.”
Brian turns around and goes back in the bathroom where I hear the clippers go on again.
Brian: “Fine, but I’m keeping the mustache!”
Me: “Quick, grab me some peroxide and hairspray!”
Me: “I need to make sure I am a good Loni Anderson to your Burt Reynolds.”
Brian turns around again and the clippers, once again, turn on.
I thought it was a compliment, but apparently he did not take it that way, and off went the superstache.
I’ll take him any way I can get him.