“I do your hair ganddad.”
A three-year-old granddaughter was using me as hairdressing practice.
It must have been a bit of a challenge for her. A greying old man with a receding hairline is hardly the ideal model.
But Abby was undeterred. “Put your head down ganddad,” she said.
So I did and Abby proceeded to comb, ruffle and do other strange things with my hair.
In fact, she brought the comb down with such force, I felt dizzy.
“That nice ganddad!”
“Lovely”, I replied. “You are a very good hairdresser.”
Bang! Comb came down again.
This went on for 10 minutes while other members of the family looked on in amusement - and relief that their own ordeal was over.
They had all been through the Abby treatment and their heads were still hurting.
Eventually, Abby stopped. She stepped back to examine her handiwork and then said: “I do more!”
The torture was not over. Comb came down. Bang!
Eventually, it was over and Abby was happy with her day’s work. I felt dizzy but my wife Margaret was not showing any sympathy.
“She’s three. How can a three-year-old hurt,” she said.
“She’s a three-year-old with the strength of a 33-year-old,” I replied.
“Wimp,” came the sympathetic comeback.
Then Abby started to pack up her little hairdressing set and that’s when I noticed something odd. The whole set was a dog grooming kit.
My granddaughter had pampered me with a styling set meant for a hound.
Okay I may look dog rough at times but I am not a canine. I don’t chase after sticks and I don’t sniff at inappropriate places.
But my concern then gave way to amusement. All of us had received the Abby treatment so that meant every one of us had followed in the footsteps of a hairy hound.
Abby was pleased with her day’s work. She headed off into the distance, probably to style a mix of humans and poodles somewhere.
Meanwhile, I didn’t know whether to preen or scratch.
Still, it’s great being a well groomed granddad.