Well, kind-of, I hate to pay for services that I feel that I could accomplish with relative ease. I especially hate to do this with things that repeat frequently. I’m not the sort to employ a cleaning service, or pay for repairs, or call the handyman service.
You’ll understand my frustration then, when every couple of weeks my husband headed off to spend twenty bucks on a haircut, and then came home and told me how horrible it was. I began to get annoyed. You have to understand. My husband has a very short haircut. I mean short. So, it is mind-boggling that any barber or hair-stylist wouldn’t be able to zoom a pair of clippers around his head and be done.
I began my campaign.
See, as much as I’m a Do-It-Yourself-er, my husband is not (unless it’s computers). So, I knew that if I wanted to cut his hair myself it was going to take a while to convince him.
After a few months, we went out to target and bought the necessary equipment. It cost $20. If everything went to plan the clippers would pay for themselves in one sitting. If it didn’t go to plan? Well, hair grows back.
Three weeks later and he was shaggy enough that he direly needed a haircut. He was stalling, but now that we owned clippers, it was hard to justify going to a salon where they would inevitably not give him what he wanted. Finally he acquiesced with the words, “If it’s bad we’ll just buzz it.”
Such confidence! Such faith!
Saturday became the day. We pulled out the clippers and, with some trepidation, began.
As Fiona watched me cut, she asked, “Are you going to cut my hair, too, Mommy?”
“Sure am!” I responded. She’s been needing a haircut. I’m a firm believer that little girls should have hair that’s easy. Long ringlets are not easy. She was overdue for a trim as her curls were rapidly approaching difficult.
She looked at us dubiously, as I ran the clippers across her Daddy’s head. After a moment she said, “Mommy, I don’t want my hair that short, okay?”
I grinned, “No, Baby. I’ll use scissors on your hair.”
“Okay.” She agreed with relief, “I need to have curls ’cause I’m a curly-headed kid.”
After a short while, we were through.
I shouldn’t have worried. The results were fabulous. He looks great. It took a little longer than a professional, and we had to take a second pass at a little of it to get the fade just right on the sides, but he looks sharp as can be. What’s even better? He loves it. I asked if I could share a picture, but he asked me not to, so you don’t get to appreciate my handiwork in his case.
After that I trimmed Fiona’s hair. It never takes long to get her curls cut back, in part because I know precisely how they’ll bounce and what they do on the good and bad hair days. She looks, as expected, cute.
Then I had a Tangled moment.
You’ve all seen the Disney Movie Tangled, right? Well, in it there is a point at which all of her long hair gets cropped off by a piece of broken mirror. Yeah. In one cut. And she’s left with this perfect bouncy, modern short cut that would take an hour to achieve in a salon. It’s also in that moment that she becomes free of both the physical and social burden of her long magical hair.
Anyhow, I’ve been feeling very trapped by my responsibilities lately. Which I think is probably just one of those normal parts of adulthood that no one talks about, because, hey avoidance. But, regardless, I was feeling weighed down, and responsible, and honestly, a little staid and boring.
So, after a few minutes of considering. I took the scissors into the bathroom and cut my own hair.
My husband watched in a disconcerting combination of stunned horror and anxious amazement.
First I hacked off the bottom eight inches. Then I clipped a piece at the very front out of the way. Then I began to cut. Leaning this way and that, trying for a choppy, modern short look. Trying for something looser, and freer. Trying to have a Rapunzel moment at 10:30 on a Saturday morning in my own bathroom.
By the time I was finished the shortest part was near the crown of my head and was only a couple of inches long, a long lock fell across my face, and I felt giddy and shaky from relief and anxiety.
Who the heck cuts their own hair?
Nobody. That’s nuts.
It turned out great though.
I feel lighter and prettier. I feel free. And my whole family looks great!