There was a time not so long ago when Miles, fresh and dapper as he was, was eager to have his photograph taken after a successful haircut. I mean heck, here he is not two months ago on the occasion of his last haircut.
Time moves quickly though, and when I asked to get a picture today, Miles responded by aggressively ruining his hairstyle, ensuring no one would enjoy it moving forward.
It wasn’t entirely without precedent. Almost every morning Miles flat-out refuses to so much as brush his hair, let alone allow us to do anything that might make him look less like someone who just rolled out of bed (although if the shoe fits…). We’re letting it go for now, but if one day, way down the road, Miles is reading this and, having discovered even rudimentary hairstyling, is wondering how on Earth we ever could have let him leave the house looking like this so often, let me assure YOU, MISTER. WE TRIED. WE TRIED OUR DAMNDEST.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 