I've been off the blogosphere for several days now. Apologies for the absence. It appears as though playing tour guide to 'the grandparents' has taken precedence over internet time (...and shower time...and cleaning time...and attention to general grooming time - judging by the state of my no longer perfectly hairless legs). They depart these sweltering shores in a few days, and thus I shall resume my near-daily moaning about all things epic and trite.
The other day while introducing my mother-in-law to my favourite jeweller on the beach, the husband snuck over to the makeshift barbers under the corrigated tin roof and had Dumpie shorn within an inch of his life.
Knowing I'd probably murder him, in an effort to semi-appease me, the husband stopped short of getting Egg's hair entirely hacked off - thus inadvertantly leaving the poor child sporting a pudding bowl haircut (Beatles circa 1968).
So my little surfer boys are no more. Perhaps it's for the best though, as it is pretty damn hot here at the moment. Proper hot. And little Dumps looks so adorable with his new haircut that almost anything he does, however naughty, (so long as it's not of the fecal variety) is met with bemusement not anger.
Saying that, not sure how the in-laws took it this morning when he plowed right into me, got annoyed, then glared fixedly at me, accusatory finger curled maliciously in my direction,
"Go away you stinky, naughty poo-poo girl!"
That's what you get for giving them a one pound twenty pence haircut I suppose.