Rites of passage

Ahh, the age old rites of passage into manhood.

The wooden bench across the chair arms that you have to climb on to and then balance on precariously.

The order for a "short back and sides and a tidy up on top" regardless of what you may actually want.

The buzz of the clippers.

The scratchiness of the loose hairs down the back of your shirt.

And, of course, your Dad taking a photo of the whole thing for his online diary.