Hair Crimes 2—The Husband

I really didn’t want to have to resort to drugging The Husband in order to practice my electric hair clipper skills on a still head, so I tried to convince him that it was a good idea that he should voluntarily agree to.

“I’m watching online videos right now about how to cut men’s hair with the clippers!”

You’re not making me feel good about this.

“Oh, honey! I’m so excited to cut your hair!”

That does not inspire my confidence in you. Do you ever hear a surgeon say, ‘I’m so excited to perform this operation on you! I’ve never done it before! Yay!’

“If we do it on tomorrow, you could still get your hair fixed in time for your trip!”

Do you ever hear a surgeon say, ‘Let’s do your surgery today since you could get it repaired by someone else tomorrow if you need to!’

(How tired, all of these surgeon analogies.)

“Can I cut your hair tonight?”

 Don’t you think you need daylight to see better?

Finally, I got him to agree to me cutting his hair one evening.

After I declined his offer to fix me a glass of wine to “steady my hands,” he fixed himself a stiff drink and looked like he was about to go into war.

With all that protesting, the Husband sat patiently, like a perfect head model, while I cut his hair. It took a LONG time. I wanted to make it just right (also, he warned me beforehand that he would NOT TOLERATE LINES. NO LINES.) so I blended and faded (he also had said YOU NEED TO FADE IT. FADING IS IMPORTANT), rocked and shaped. 

It took almost 30 minutes! I kept saying, Wait! Let me just do one more thing! He sat, eyes closed, all his husbandly faith instilled in me and my hands. (Actually, it was quite sweet.)

And, in the end, it looked like a real haircut! No ridges! No bald pits! No blood bath!

I think the Husband was pleasantly surprised. Or maybe I just exceeded his very low expectations.