Letters from Grenada

confessions of a reformed tourist

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why yes, you can call me delilah

I did it. I cut his hair.

I suppose it had to be done. He’s three. He specifically requested it. And he really did look like a girl with that mane.

Right afterwards, I picked him up so he could see himself in the mirror. He smiled at his reflection with a glee that he normally reserves for chocolate, backhoes and puppies.

“Mommy. I look like a man now.”

(pause)

“Can I drive?”

(Originally posted here.)

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5 Responses to “why yes, you can call me delilah”

  1. 1
    owen (15 comments.):

    oh my god, his reggae career is totally messed up now

    owen´s last blog post..Jerk It (Logbook)

  2. 2
    Girlblue (6 comments.):

    bwahahaahhaha *breathe* ahahahahahahahaha oh…oh dear

    I suspect he may like the haircut LOL

    Girlblue´s last blog post..Though I walk through the valley

  3. 3
    YingYang (35 comments.):

    Ohh! I want to see a picture. He must look so grown up! lol@Owen though..

    On another note, I drove past the place that you got that shot of the Haile Selaisse mural that you have as one of your headers. I was really tempted to take a picture of the complete little hut. So cool!

    YingYang´s last blog post..Taiwan to Grenada – “We want we money NOW!”

  4. 4
    jdid (20 comments.):

    lol
    i think we started cutting just after a year. just couldnt deal with combing the afro and i am definetly not a fan of plaiting little boys hair.

  5. 5
    ruthibelle (7 comments.):

    Wow… that was fast… all of a couple seconds and he’s all grown up… lmao Hilarious!!!

    ruthibelle´s last blog post..Only in Jamaica

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Grand Anse Beach maria at piscesinpurple dot com Spicemas AvatarComic Book EditionGrenada AvatarFourth of July AvatarBean's AvatarGold Star AvatarSanta Hat AvatarSt Patrick'sCaffeine FormulaAllegedly Accidental

My name is María. I like wasabi, patronize bunny rabbits and think red wine really needs to stop pretending it's not purple.

I lived in Caribbean for four glorious years. My son - Joaquín the illustrious Bean - was born on the island of Grenada. He's beautiful, brilliant and has two birth certificates.

Now we're back in the land of snow and afternoon sunsets, and all the diet Coke and Thomas the Tank Engine in the world won't cushion the blow of such culture shock.

This is our story.


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