The COVID-19 Haircut Adventure

Last week, my husband informed me he needed a haircut. And he believed I could perform this task because 400 years ago, I managed a hair salon. So I did what any not-a-hair-stylist would do: I went to You Tube, found Brad Mondo, and watched his video tutorial on cutting hair at home.

My husband, whose faith in me was slightly terrifying, plopped himself into a deck chair as my shaking hands wrapped a beach towel around his entire upper body. We had to situate ourselves in the doorway of the garage because my clippers are not rechargeable. A lovely breeze wafted by, the dog was confused, and I was praying to every deity I could think of.

About that “breeze.” It turned into a rather brisk wind at some point, which A) dried out my husband’s hair, and B) blew his hair in 15 different directions. The reason we were outside was I had already cut my own hair, and 2 days later, had not gotten all of the remnants out of the bathroom. It made sense before we were out there.

Halfway through the cut, I realized it would have been a great idea to bring the cell phone out with me, and cue up Brad’s video. But I figured I could remember the important parts, like what guards to use and in what order to use them, how to trim the hair around the ears, and besides, how hard could it be? My husband’s one of those men who thinks spending more than $12 on a haircut is a sin. And I was absolutely the perfect person to give him a $12 haircut. In a windstorm. With trembling hands.

The first attempt resulted in the handsome man to whom I am married looking like a 1940’s Appalachian moonshiner. I honestly don’t know what happened, except that I (again) should have been watching Brad’s video while I was mauling my poor husband’s head. I apologized and promised to fix it the next day. I didn’t last that long, and convinced him to let me “finish” a few hours later. Still hadn’t watched Brad’s very helpful video more than once, still believed I could solve this all by myself.

First, I blended the sides and back using thinning shears we bought at Walmart. The screw that held the blades together kept loosening, and I had to tighten it with a tweezers. One side of his hair was a smidge longer than the other, so out came the clippers. Honestly, I could have used a weed whacker and gotten the same result, just with a lot more blood. Speaking of blood, I managed to cut myself while attempting to point cut-something I’ve seen done with great skill, skill I do not possess.

The end result is not bad(?). I did get his hair blended, sort of, and it’s mostly all even. He gave me a big smooch, thanked me, and told me he liked the cut a lot. I think he’s lying, but in the time of the COVID-19 haircut, we get what we get.

Published by The Writing Wombat

Writer, wife, mom, Democrat, trauma survivor

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