Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
We walked back into the kitchen, leaving the binder on the sofa, and I opened my laptop at the table. The screen cast a cool blue glow across the salt shaker and the stack of guest response cards we had been counting earlier.
“These are eighty-five dollars,” Mason said, pointing at a pair of professional clippers on the screen. “But these others are ninety. They come with a silent motor and two different guard sets.”
“Well, we should get the ninety-dollar ones,” I said. “If we are going to do this in the middle of the ballroom, we do not want something that sounds like an old lawnmower.”
I entered my credit card number, the keys clicking loudly in the dark apartment. With the overnight shipping to Maplewood, the total came to ninety-six dollars and forty cents, a small chunk of our remaining emergency savings gone in a single click.
“How are we going to get them into the Grand Oak Ballroom?” Mason asked, leaning over my shoulder.
