When the commuters get fussy, the fussy play with Mommy’s blackberry. We pinned daddy a couple of times with deep meaningful messages along the lines of ewrieryewriiw3264837gdhriuyi. (That’s Robert-type-eese for “Hi Daddy -We’re on the metro.”)
And yes, I did attempt to give my poor boy a haircut, and yes it is painfully obvious that I am right-handed and am a whimp when it comes to my boy squirming with clippers near his face. Don’t worry, it will grow out.
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