Do you trust your partner to cut your hair? It’s the ultimate relationship test.
My husband’s hair was getting a bit long and unruly so he asked me to cut it. For those of you who know me well, you know that doing anything hair related is at the far, farther, farthest boundary of my skill sets. Ask me to win a case, bingo. Teach someone how to write well, okay. Potty train a reluctant toddler, yes I can. Cook a meal that makes grown folks line up at the kitchen door, piece of cake. Put up with any number of difficult situations and keep my cool, easy peasy. Hair, not so much. I hate doing my own hair and have relied on the skills of Shirley and Eutrina to keep me from scaring people when I go out in public.
He continued to press me, and I continued to avoid – adroitly I thought – the issue. I’m not a barber and hair is NOT my thing. He kept on. Finally, he found some clippers at Target. Tiny, beard intended clippers. The last pair. SIGH. The things we do for love. I started cutting with those tiny clippers. They are really tiny, like about an inch, perhaps an inch and a half, across. Remember, I can’t see all that well even with my glasses, and don’t have the steady hand that barbering requires. My first few swipes were irregular. I got better as I went along, however, better as you go along doesn’t mitigate your earlier learning curve. I ended up having to cut all of his hair off with the reminder “your hair grows fast.” I have a pix of the back of his head but he is opposed to letting you see it. Perhaps I can sneak it in…