Three little scary words

“Cut my hair.”

These were the words the Webmaster said to me as he handed me scissors, a razor, and a comb.

They were enough to strike fear into my heart. My husband is a brave, brave man. Because I am not trained to cut hair. I trim the Munchkin’s bangs, and that’s pretty much it.

My parents, however, gave the Webmaster an entire Conair haircutting kit last Christmas, with the intent that we would start saving ourselves the $12 plus tip that he spends every six weeks to two months getting a haircut. And to his credit, the Webmaster was very willing, with the proper tools, to let me try cutting his hair.

I say with the proper tools because during our first year of marriage, I tried cutting his hair at my parents’ house with scissors only (their razor is a tempermental piece of work that only my mother seems to have the hang of). The Captain was home on spring break from college, and his wife (they were dating at the time) was also visiting. Their idea of giving us both confidence was to walk into the garage, where the deed was being done, point, laugh, and walk back out. That experience made me think that spending the $12 plus tip every six weeks was worth my sanity. The end result wasn’t terrible, but it was rather uneven. He got his hair cut properly about a month later that time.

This time, though, he was desperate. He hadn’t had a haircut in over two months, and was begging me to help him. Reluctantly, I agreed, and once the kids were asleep Saturday night, we read the directions for the razor, he found his ever-favorite #2 guide, and I began cutting his hair.

All was going well until I hit his ears. Now, they do have ear guides, but I decided to free hand it without the guide. Note to self: do NOT try that again. A couple of expletives escaped my mouth when I realized that I had just buzzed off a bit more than what the #2 guide allowed for. End result: re-cut hair with the #1 guide to attempt to “blend in” error.

I used scissors on the top of his head with more success, and blended in the crown of his hair with the buzzed part to his satisfaction. This was a very nerve-wracking procedure. I was completely frazzled by the end of it. And now his hair makes me self-concious, because I did the cutting. He even told me to stop staring at his head while we were in the service at church.

But he’s happy with it. So if he’s happy, who am I to complain? Practice will make perfect… eventually… and I can forsee a lot of practice. Apparently, he’s a willing guinea pig. He even said (after I was done), “Hey, we should have taken before and after pictures for your blog!”

Maybe next time.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 12th, 2006 at 12:15 am and is filed under Husbands.
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