This morning I painted Ben's nails for him and helped PJ do a mask on his face. I asked Ben if he wanted a mask as well, for exfoliation and he asked what the mask tasted like. He's looking at the front of the container. Cucumbers and coconuts? I ventured. But probably like chemicals.
He declined. For once.
Lochlan came in and did his Oh ho ho Santa-Claus laugh. He saves it for his happy/incredulous moods. I chased him around the house trying to get him to submit to some treatments too but his idea of effort is not brushing wet curls. Then once they're dry he rakes his hand through them and has perfect glossy red loops.
I swear to God in my next life I want that hair.
Ben's nails are black. There's no other color ever. Well, once when Ruth was four he let her paint them pink. They were still pink when he came home from tour and if you look at pictures online from that summer you can see the pink polish on every set of horns he throws.
It's great.
PJ asked how to get the mask out of his beard after about fifteen minutes of waiting for it to harden. Rather, he whined for a good ten minutes while I guessed at solutions.
Have a hot shower. Or stick your whole face in a sink full of really hot water?
Oh come on, Bridget! Seriously? There's no easier way to get this out of my beard?
I don't know. I don't have a beard so I'm not the expert here.
Wait. Loch, how do I, oh nevermind. Not like you can grow an actual beard. (Oh. Burn.)
Naw but at least I can grow a set of balls and not let her play beauty parlour with my face, asshole.
