When Matt and I got married, we were full-time students and part-time workers. Like many young couples starting out we were poor as dirt and we did what we could to make ends meet and to cut corners. One of the ways Matt thought of to help us save money was to invest on a hair-cutting kit and take care of his own hair at home. He figured the cost of the kit would be made up quickly by the money he would save not going to the barbershop.
I had some reservations about it because neither one of us had any experience cutting hair, but Matt assured me it would work out. I accepted on two conditions: 1. that my locks would be handled by a professional and 2. that I would not be forced to perform the role of beautician. It was agreed.
As I feared, however, after a couple of times of self-inflicted hair cuts I was dragged into the venture. Matt asked me to help him trim the back, the part he could not reach, and handed me the clippers.
I tried to explain very clearly that I knew nothing about hair cutting, that I had never even held a set of clippers, and that I knew - I just knew - Matt would get mad at me if I screwed up. I was assured several times that anyone (even a mechanically challenged person like me) could use these clippers, that no, nobody would be upset if I messed up, and that yes, it would all work out. What do they say about hindsight again?
Why. Tell me why did I ever believe him? Who would NOT get upset? How many people do you see leaving a beauty shop with a clearly fudged hair cut and a smile on their face? What possessed me to believe that my gentle husband would simple smile and say: it’s ok, honey, I know you tried. Why.
"- All right, you said I should just put the clippers to your hair and go up from the bottom like thi…oh, oh…"
"- Oh, oh, what? OH, OH, WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED? WHY DID YOU SAY OH, OH?!"
"- Well…...I did what you told me and now there is a hole on your head."
"- WHAAAAT???? Did you remember to use the guard???"
"- What guard?"
"- Oh, no. Oh, no. You didn’t use the guard? Why in the world did you not use the guard???"
"- I don’t know what a guard is! I told you I didn’t know anything about cutting hair. You said you would not get upset. You lied!"
"- There is a hole on my head. It’s the size of a quarter! Now I’m going to have to shave the whole back of my head!"
"- I think it looks cute…" (said with an adorable grin)
No answer…just glowering.
"- One day we will laugh about this, I'm sure" (said with an even more adorable grin)
Still no answer…more glowering.
"- I guess now you will have to go to the barbershop…" (no adorable grin now)
That didn’t help.
It also didn’t help to remind him that he pinky-promised not to get upset, that I said I didn’t know anything about cutting hair, or that it was just hair and it would grow back. In fact, that last one made it worse. He was upset, and a little balder – (although today he has a permanent hole the size of a half-dollar on the top of his head that I didn’t cause, which I find sweetly ironic) – and until the back of his head caught up with the front, several professional haircuts later, we were not able to laugh about it all like I hoped.
We learned pretty early on that sometimes you have to spend a little money to save your marriage. That is until the day I thought it would save us money to have Matt highlight my hair at home...but that's a story for another time.
I'm linking this post for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop. Better late than never. Thank you Jennifer for the idea! Click on her button to see more Hair Disaster stories and her weekly prompts.