True Confessions of a Wife-Beautician

I grew up watching my mom cut my dad’s hair.  About every six weeks, she’d get out her scissors (until we could afford an electric clipper when I was about 10), and my dad and brothers would get their hair cut.  She told me she started in college.  “I met a lot of guys that way,” she said.

So, when I went to college, I thought I’d try my hand at what I thought would be part of my wifely duty.  I had a good friend who was patient enough (or maybe just that broke) to sit through an hour plus torture session—my first haircut—our freshmen year.  He must have really liked me, because I cut his hair several more times through our college career.  My brothers would also occasionally let me practice on them.  Slowly, my time improved, although I can’t say the same as to my skill level.

When Matt and I got married, he decided I should give him haircuts to save the ridiculously $16.00 cost.   

And so, I practiced.

And practiced.

And practiced some more.

Seven years later, I would much rather he shell out the now $21.00 cost (even more ridiculous!) and let a professional work her magic.  I put off cutting his hair as long as I possibly can in the hopes that he might give up on me and go to the Beauty School for a $5.00 haircut (and a lesson in patience as he tries to communicate with someone who barely speaks English).

Tonight, I finally gave into his requests.  As I worked, I was thinking, “Wow.  I think I’m actually getting better at this.”  I hesitantly declared the haircut over after 25 minutes of snipping and buzzing away.  He helped me clean the clippers as I swept up the floor.  As I put the broom away, he came back down from the bathroom and, dashing all my delusions of progress, said, “This isn’t even.”

Sure enough, I had done a FANTASTIC job of blending and trimming, leaving his hair long on top…but just on one side of his head.  The other, much to my dismay, was not anywhere near the same level (I mean that literally…his hair line was much higher on that side).  The only fix I could apply was to give him a sort-of-faux-hawk haircut.

“I really wish we could just send you to a professional,” I declared after the “fix.”

“But, you really are improving,” Matt tried to encourage me.

And, just now, he came down showing me yet another mistake and giving me pointers for “next time.”

What a supportive husband.  Perhaps it would be better for his image, though, if he lived in reality and took himself to a Hair Cuttery.  $21.00 once every six weeks is a small price to pay to look good, right?

I guess I’m really blessed to have someone who trust his hair to me and keeps on coming back, knowing that something will not be right.