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Sebastian is my eight-year old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
This week marks the first anniversary of our move from Philadelphia to Houston, so here is an episode from the week leading up to the “grand depart”–our last week in Philly a year ago.
Sebastian will be turning eight next month, but he has only been to a “real” barber once in his life (I have filled the role of hair stylist on every other occasion). Before leaving Philadelphia, I decided that the boys needed a haircut and seeing that my tools of the trade had already been packed up and shipped off to Houston, I needed to take them to a professional.
I found what appeared to be an acceptable barber on the internet and we hopped in the car and drove to South Philly.
As we approached the neighborhood, I told the boys to keep a lookout for a barber pole.
Sebastian: “What is a barber pole?’
Me: “Kind of what is sounds like. It’s a pole outside a barber shop.”
Seba: “What is it for?”
Me: “Well, it is to let you know that there is a barber there.”
Sebastian, after a bit of contemplation: “Is there such a thing as a pizza pole?”