After my last blog entry, perhaps it won't surprise anyone if I say that I have made plenty of mistakes in my life. It's true. Despite the illusion I give of being completely put together, organized, and practically-perfect-in-every-way **cough**...well...okay, so, I'm really just another goober.
If I haven't already proven this point from past entries, let me share another. When I was a teenager, my Dad got the wild notion that he wanted one of his loving family members to cut his hair at home. The day he decided this was when Mom, the most qualified hair cutter was unavailable. So what did he do? I happened to walk by and was assured that it would be a cinch to cut his hair. He placed the electric clippers in my hand. He even put the #2 attachment on for me. What he neglected to mention was the common knowledge fact that barbers start at the BASE of their client's head.
Y'all are smart.
You can guess what happened.
Yup. I went straight for the top. The very center to be exact.
Within seconds several things happened. The order of these things is of little consequence, but almost spontaneously:
Dad's hand flew up to his head, I began to cry, and Mom walked in to see her husband with a new hair cut that vaguely resembled a reverse skunk pattern. I quickly proclaimed that I never wanted to attempt cutting hair in the first place and shed a few more tears fearing I'd ruined my father's chance of anyone taking him seriously in his position in high level management. Yikes!
Dad was gracious (as has always been his character in crisis situations). After drawing a deep breath, he laughed, and most heartily, too. He assured me that his hair would grow back, and that it'd be easier to take care of until that point. He placed the clippers back in my hands and I finished what I started, feeling very humbled and thankful to have an understanding Dad. Regardless, the experience scared me. As in: "I NEVER want to do this again!" The story has of course been retold numerous times, but over the years, deep down, I've wondered if I could actually give a good haircut.
Tonight, my brave husband gave me the chance to find out. He was indeed brave (albeit after excuses and perhaps a twinge of fear having heard the above story), but still required a bit of coaxing before finally sitting down in the hair-cutting chair. I prepped for this haircut by watching roughly 30-40 minutes of YouTube how-tos and gained a sense of confidence...at least enough to be a tad forceful when it came to getting him to sit down.
The result?
A shockingly large pile of hair on the floor, 20 minutes of breath holding, and one GOOD LOOKIN' haircut! Success!
He was handsome before, but he's a mighty fine looking man now being freed from the excess scruff. It might be too soon to hope, but from the looks of how things went tonight, he might even ask me to cut it again one day. :)
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You're better than me. I lied to Tanner when we were dating. I told him I had cut my dad's hair in the past because I wanted him to let me cut his hair. In reality, I had never done it at all.
ReplyDeleteI still cut his hair, or he cuts his own. I used to fade it an everything, but now he likes one length – SHORT – all the way around. I eventually came clean too, months, maybe even years (?) later.