James has decided he wants me to be his hairdresser. This totally stresses me out. To date, I've given him three haircuts; each one is preceded by about a week of him begging me to do it and me procrastinating and making excuses. He's all into how much money this will save us over the next however many years, especially if we have a gaggle of little boys and I cut their hair too. While I'm all for saving money, I've never been inclined to be a beautician in the past, and don't have any sort of urge to now.
Today was a haircut day. I get so stressed out about it, thinking I'm going to screw up, that I can't hold in my nervous laughter. I have to keep telling him, "I can't help laughing, it's not because I've messed up, I just can't help it" Cutting his hair totally gives me the giggles.
You should see the scissors I have to use, it's the tiny kind you'd use to cut nose hairs with. You'd laugh too.