Tom wants April to cut a tad bit off the sides after she wraps the red cape around him and fastens the straps behind his neck. "Ok." The hair clipper hums gladly like a lawnmower. Twenty minutes later her masterpiece appears in the mirror. His crown looks like the front lawn he mowed. Frowning at the light stubble, Tom sighs, “Cut too short. It’s to be outgrown with weeds.” His wife pats his head like a tambourine.
whispers
the kiss blooms into
a kiss-me-not