Work is bad

This morning, I got my hair cut at a salon near Sarah‘s, which is much more than coincidental because, well, she gave me the name of her salon when I told her I finally decided to find one here and not in NJ (long story). Since I couldn’t get a Saturday appointment until sometime in mid-February, and I was hating my hair (desperately in need of a cut/style; its last cut was Thanksgiving weekend), I took the first one in the morning and went in late to work.

Sarah and the twins stopped by after running one of their errands, saw my yellow Jeep, and deduced I was still there. (They really are pretty smart people.) Rebecca was very happy to be inside a girly shop. Max thought we were going to cut his hair, and had a very displeased expression on his face, and couldn’t wait to leave. Outside, I chatted with Sarah in between having the twins yell “Boo!” at me and yelling “Boo!” back (they have recently discovered being scared is fun). After a few minutes, though, I had to leave. “I have to go to work,” I told the twins.

“Work is bad,” Max said. What he really meant is that work is bad because it stops me from getting into the van with Sarah and the twins, and riding around town with them on their errands, followed by lunch with the twins and much back-and-forth “scaring” going on the whole time.

Y’know, I have to agree with him. I would have had a much nicer day with Sarah and the twins. I was with the family most of Saturday, and got to see Nate’s book and get his commentary on whether or not the plane on the last page was going to crash into the penguin. (Most certainly.) Do click the link; the book is hilarious and yet terrifying all at the same time.

The mind of a seven-year-old is an amazing thing.