Wednesday, June 15, 2011

I hate playing barber

Several years ago, my beloved husband decided that he needn't spend money going to a legitimate barber.  He could just buy a home barber kit, and I could cut his hair.
ME.  Someone who can't successfully use a blow dryer and curling iron on her own hair is going to take clippers to her husband's head?  (Really, he has to be either very brave or very stupid to let me take on that task.)
The first time we attempted the exercise, I of course had no idea what I was doing.
I had seen it done before.  He had seen it done too, so he was directing me.  Talk about the blind leading the blind.
Not knowing what we were doing, I managed to give him a spot of reverse mohawk at his nape.
Then we figured it out.  That's what those blasted combs were for -- they would control how close the clippers got to the head!
We had great fun explaining to anyone and everyone why he had a bald patch at the back of his head.
His spin was that it was my first attempt at cutting his hair, but I would get better.
I insisted then, and am still of the opinion, that it was a result of spousal abuse on his part.
Well, I have gotten better.  (Lord knows I've had enough practice.)
Now, I let him know when he's due for a cut and I even get the clippers out in readiness for the job.
I still warn him that he shouldn't let me take on the task if I'm angry at him.
And I still regard his "making" me do it as spousal abuse.
This morning, he is once again sheared and ready to face the world, courtesy of his wife -- the reluctant barber.

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