Yesterday evening I shaved off the sides of Ian’s beard. He’d been nagging for ‘Gillette’.
That’s the trouble, you see, when you teach an autistic child to read.
They read everything.
They notice everything.
I shave him regularly with soap, no problems; his dad shaved him once with shaving cream and he’s been nagging – admittedly intermittently – for ‘Gillette’. He read the bottle, and never forgot.
I thought he might be finding the full beard a bit warm in the humid summer weather we’ve been having, so last night I reduced it to a goatee. Easy peasy, no problems.
So far, so good.
Ian was particularly quiet today, which was a pleasure really and I didn’t think anything of it. Oh silly me. I went into the bathroom to find Gillette shaving cream everywhere. And I mean everywhere – on the bath towels, on the wash basin, on the face cloth, on the hand towel, on the wall, on the floor, even a few spots on the toilet.
I started to laugh.
I just couldn’t wait to see what he’d done to himself.
I peeked in his bedroom. There he was, lying in state in his bed, with half a moustache and a chunk missing out of his beard…
Still laughing, I called Neil and we went into Ian’s bedroom together and stood staring at Ian’s creative attempt at shaving.
“Gillette,” said Ian, with a satisfied smile on his face.