Ari gets a haircut
I was entrusted with the job of taking Ari for a haircut to the saloon right across the street. Having just come from work and looking forward to a weekend of blissful nothingness, a dissonant harbinger of this sort was met with subtle grunts of frustration and disapproval, but Asha would have none of it. Having just returned from Ari's swimming lessons, she had the moral high ground to delegate this menial task on to me. Having come from a tropical country to England and not having acclimatized in all these years, she still equates love and affection for her child with keeping him as warm as possible throughout the year, even if it makes him sweat. She is entirely incapable of believing that there is such a thing as over-dressing. So while she once again customarily instructed Ari to don his jacket, and as Ari obediently followed instructions, I instructed the reverse. Being sandwiched between parental instructions contradicting each other, Ari was in limbo for a while before his mother relented and allowed my order to gain precedence. We were just crossing the road, not navigating through the Arctic chill, I reasoned within. The minor predicament over, Ari readily followed me as we made our way through the corridor of our home, out the door, across the road and into the refuge of the saloon. The weather was warm enough for the door to be kept wide open, further endorsing my point. The barber was busy snipping through a client's hair while another client waited. A senior barber soon came along and invited Ari to ascend the elaborate chair. A plank was rested on the arms of the chair to elevate him to the right height.