Warm Prickly

You pick up the machine and buzzbuzzbuzzzz a strip of hair off my head. I tell Mom she could either let me buzz the rest off, or have me walking around with a short haired stripe running parallel to my forehead.
That short part doesn't look so bad, now, does it, she says.
This boggles my mind because she's only been fighting me on this point for two years.

I grab the machine and gave myself a nice, short #4.
It's warm and prickly.

I can hear you in the other bed, clicking your teeth, so I turn over to show you my new hairstyle ( wheeeeeeeeeeee!), I could have sworn you were there, but it's Heather, she's snoring, and my hair hasn't been cut.