So Indernana decided a little late to shut its shit down, but whatevs. As of Wednesday, we have some (mostly loosely based) stay-at-home orders. Essential businesses can stay open, but what constitutes essential? Well, no one seems to know.
Regardless, the hubs is working from home for the time being, which means that he works upstairs, and I work downstairs (technically our “office spaces” are both upstairs, but mine is a source of great anxiety as I don’t know how I want to decorate it, and so I avoid it at all costs). It’s a nice arrangement.
But this morning, one of the first things he said to me was, “Are hair cut places essential? Because my hairs are getting real long.” And I had to explain that no, they weren’t. This was really bothersome to him because he gets very picky about his hair length after a certain point – once the hairs start lightly brushing the tops of his ears, it’s in the salon chair he goes (he’s not super enthused about the actual appointment, either – small talk? having to decide how he wants his hair? NO THANK YOU).
So he says, “Yeah… I might trim it. I googled some tutorials. We’ll see.” At which point I offered to help.
Remember that information later, because it’s important.
We go about our days – mine climbing all over the internet, a little writing here, a little editing there, a lot of freaking out over there, trying to make my burnt-out creative brain JUST BE MORE CREATIVE!!!!; him doing his thing, which at this point I believe is trying to recreate meetings via email threads. I’m not quite sure; alls I knows is it’s very structured and he’s a lot calmer than I am.
At some point, he tells me he’s done with work and gonna go relax for a bit. At the time, I was on a video chat with my two HS besties, and so I was like, do your thing – I got faces to see through screens!
Imagine my surprise then, when he came back downstairs with (curiously?) fewer hairs than he had before.
I said, “Did you cut your hair?”
He said, “…maybe?”
We stared at each other. This went on for some minutes.
I mean, I’ll give the kid some credit – he didn’t shave off an eyebrow accidentally or hit a vital organ or anything.
And, as he pointed out after a while, hair grows.
That it does, reader. That it does.
And it wasn’t the front that was the problem (although it wasn’t great, but eh. There’s a lot of shit I can’t do, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything perfectly the first time out. So… the calm way of looking at this is that he had a problem, and like Vanilla Ice before him, yo, he solved it.)
THE OTHER WAY OF LOOKING AT IT IS THAT HE HACKED THE BACK OF HIS DAMN HEAD.
“Why would he try to do the back of his head when you offered to help?” you might be asking. That’s a very good question – and one that I asked, repeatedly, in shock while staring at… it wasn’t quite a mullet, maybe the bottom layer was? (oh yes, there were layers)… like honestly, I have no idea HOW he even did what he did. In one moment I saw our future children running with scissors, snipping their hair off just ’cause they felt like it, while also remembering the time that, at age 12, my very-knowledgeable older sister offered to trim my bangs and I walked away with
steps on my forehead?
I will save you the minutes where I said, “Will you just let me fix it?” while not knowing if I was even gonna be able to do anything about the situation (here’s where I mention that although I have no doubt I would have been fine minimally trimming his hair had it been left alone, I have virtually no depth perception and I can’t even draw straight lines, let alone cut them. So when you present me with a Picasso painting made of hair, and… also, do I even know what clipper guards are and what do those numbers mean and remember yesterday when I said I experienced anxiety – this is it. this is it in real-time.) and he said, “Can we do it tomorrow?” while hoping that I’d just let it go and we’d take care of it tomorrow while knowing that I was who he married and there was no fucking way we’d be taking care of this tomorrow.
So.
It took me three different methods – trimming with the clippers, cutting with the scissors, and finally, just taking a razor and shaving cream to the back of his head, but let me tell you…
The good news is that, as previously mentioned, hair grows.
And maybe by the time we emerge from the ceevee, I’ll be a certified professional hairstylist.
I Swear Too Much 