Behind the Eightball with Cueball

Did I mention I made my husband bald?

Grumpy bought a set of clippers and combs so that I could cut his hair. The first haircut didn't go so well. As I ran the clippers over his round dome there were lots of impatient grunts and cries of "You're not doing it right!"and "Look, forget it. I'll just finish myself off." I was only grateful we were outside so the neighbours could peer through the fence and see for themselves exactly what was going on.

However, the second haircut went swimmingly and so I approached the third with a much lighter heart, confident I'd got the hang of things.

I revved up the clippers and applied them to his sconce. Wow, an awful lot of hair seemed to come away. As I lifted the clippers I saw that I had mown a rather sharply defined path right up the middle of his head. Right down to the scalp. It seems I'd forgotten to attach one of the combs and gave him not a number two or three, but a number zero.

Luckily, Grumpy had a sense of humour about it but then he got sunburnt and now he's got what looks like a severe case of mutant dandruff.