My grandpa, Leo Bruski, was a 6’3″ Polish dude who owned a lumber company. He was no one to trifle with. Yet, in true grandfatherly fashion, he pretty much let Laura and me do whatever the hell we wanted to him without batting an eyelash. And he had lovely thick hair that was just begging for barrettes.
So we started doing hair salon while he sat and read the paper. After piling as many ribbons and bows as possible on his head, we would give him a mirror and he would “ooh and ahh” appropriately. We got more daring with our styles, sometimes adding balloons and the occasional stuffed animal. He stopped short of letting us do his makeup. Everyone has their limit.
This was probably the beginning of our obsession with dressing males in drag…that may need to be a different blog post. I considered putting some of those photos up on the site, but I’m fairly certain none of the parties involved wants those images on the Internet (you’re WELCOME, Randy).
3 thoughts on “Hair Salon with Grandpa”
My loving husband and self-proclaimed editor informed me that I used the wrong idiom, and it’s supposed to be “batting an EYE, not an eyelash.” Thank you, sweetie. I acknowledge your literary skills. Write your own stupid blog, then.
Let’s leave those photo’s locked away forever.
Randy, my silence comes at a price.