I was in the midst of recovering from my second Major Back Surgery. Sitting in a chair for the length of a haircut…let alone leaning back into the shampoo bowl…was not wise nor feasible. My hair, which is thick and wavy and hot and grows super fast, was out of control and driving me nuts.
In college, my best friend Zeke would often cut my hair. He had no training but he had a sense of style that made using the Wahl HomeCut Clippers® look like a breeze. Plus with enough mousse, gel, and late ‘80s glue-like hairspray, I could always cover up any oopses.
Armed with a drawer full of gel and cream and pomade and memories of Zeke artfully helping me rock late ‘80s Sheena Easton coiffs, I was excited that Rob was willing to clip my wild hair back into style.
Rob and I disagree on the next details of The Hair Cut Story.
There may or may not have been proper instructions. The instructions that were provided may or may not have been correctly followed. The requested guard number to use may or may not have been clearly communicated. One…or both…of us may or may not have been overly confident about how well this was going to end up.
We headed outside to our deck, me standing near the wall of the house since that’s where the electrical outlet was. Rob clicked on the clippers and I stood motionless as he meticulously whirred them around my head.
I didn’t have a mirror in hand, so my first indication that things were not going exactly as envisioned was chunks of my hair falling on my shirt. Big chunks. Chunks that were far too long and far too plentiful. It was becoming alarmingly evident that my hair was going to be all one length…and that length was alarmingly short.
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| Announcing the World Wide Debut of this photo! I wore a baseball hat for 3 months. |
With watery eyes and a bitten lip, the Wahl Hair Clippers were put away, never to be used again.
Until a couple of days ago.
I am almost two weeks past a quarantine-cancelled haircut. Rob keeps offering to cut my hair for me. I like my marriage too much to say yes. For the moment, I’ve decided to let my hair run wild and free. If I can’t run around untamed, at least my hair can.
However, I did say yes when Rob asked me if I wanted to cut his hair. Because with the proper instructions, how hard could it be?
Being the Turbo Student that I am, I dutifully read the yellowed illustrated instructions that came with my copyright 1987 Wahl HomeCut Hair Cutting Kit. I also watched several you-can-do-this! videos online and listened carefully as Rob explained how his trained professional always cuts his hair.
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| They both look confident and happy. What could possibly go wrong? [Note the rad chunky necklace and shoulder pads mom is wearing] |
Note: until very recently, the only hair I have ever cut was my own…as a toddler as well as a frustrated college student. Both would fall under the category “Hack Job.” Sadly, Zeke wasn’t able to come to my rescue the first time.
I took the clippers out of the brittle plastic clamshell and found some (very short) pieces of my hair circa 2002 lurking between the blades. I was stunned that the clippers (ungrounded plug) started right up without missing a beat. Go Vintage Wahl! (No goods, services, or fees were received in exchange for this enthusiastic endorsement.)
Rob sat on a stool in our garage, more confident than I was that THIS hair cut story was going to have a happy ending.
I admit I had a passing thought of exacting some sort of Buzz Cut Revenge. But I realized: 1) I will be looking at Rob’s hair pretty much at least hourly for weeks if not months to come, so the joke would actually be on me; and 2) Rob’s hair style is best described as “Balding” so the opportunities to really hack it up are limited.
The plan was I would aim for "A Style." If that failed, Rob consented to finding out what he looks like with a shaved head. Spoiler alert: while I’m not sure I’d call it "A Style," Rob still has hair.
Guard No. 4 was snapped into place. Per my research, I carefully placed the plastic Marriage Saver against the back of Rob’s head and used long strokes that lifted away from his head at the end. Some…but not too much…silver hair fell on his shoulders.
Gaining confidence, I worked around the back and sides, pleased by how not horrible this was going.
Thinking scissors would be safer than clippers around Rob’s ears, I was quickly corrected when Rob yelped and pointedly suggested I put the scissors away. I’m pleased to say Rob still has ears.
I thought the top of Rob’s head would be easy, it being the area with the least room for error. It turns out it is bewilderingly difficult to stylishly cut wisps of hair that sort of spring about hither and thither.
I tried gathering bits between my fingers to trim with the Scary Scissors, like I’ve seen my hair stylists do every 4 weeks for most of my life. That takes waaaay more coordination than it looks. I then tried using a comb to lift the wisps and buzz the top with the clippers. The wisps fell and the clippers got caught between the teeth of the comb and it was sort of really noisy.
I ended up randomly cutting hairs here and there on top of Rob’s head. Professionals might call it “Texturizing.” Or not.
When I finally decided I was done, Rob’s hair on the sides, back, and neck looked pretty dang good! His sideburns were mostly even, too. And there weren’t any obvious strays trying to make a break for it around his ears. YAY!
The top, well, it’s better than it was but it clearly needs some attention. Attention by someone whose training exceeds YouTube videos and a pamphlet from 1987.
I take it as a sign of love and confidence that Rob isn’t wearing a baseball hat inside the house. Of course, he’s not really looking in the mirror much either.
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