The Botched Haircut

A Botched Haircut

I was bald before bald was cool.

I am a baby boomer. I was raised in a time when men got a hair cut every week, on the same day. My own father got a haircut every Thursday afternoon for years. It was a religion. The men of those days wouldn’t be caught dead with unkempt hair. Then my generation, the hippie generation, came along. As far as we were concerned, all hair was too short.

Ironically, just when long hair was really cool, I started losing mine. It was 42 years ago. I was 17 at the time. At first I noticed a few extra hairs in my comb each morning. I didn’t yet realize what was going on, which is odd because I had a whole family of skinheads. Within a year or two, more hair was falling out. As the years ticked by and I reached 30, there was no doubt where I was headed, if you will excuse the pun.

At the time (Circa 1978) most of the balding fellows looked for creative ways to hide their problem. There were snap-on toupees (yes, they actually had snaps inserted under their scalps), hair transplants and some rather impressive comb-overs. You have probably seen some of those fellows who part their hair just above one ear so they can grab enough hair to comb way over the top of their heads to the other side. I never resorted to any of those. As I said, there were a bunch of bald men in my family so the balding process never really bothered me much. I just thought it was normal.

Many years have passed since then and I never have fought with nature over this issue. Now, my forehead pretty much goes all the way over the top of my head and ends in a saucer-sized circular spot that lives on the back of my head like a yarmulke, which is a beanie-like hat that the Jewish men wear in the Synagogue.

While some men, like John Edwards of political fame and Simon Cowell, the judge on American Idol, pay over $400 for each hair cut, I bought some clippers from Wal-Mart for $24. My charming wife, Patty, cuts my hair. I tend to let what little bit I have grow too long and then I over react and have my wife cut it a little too short. That system has worked fairly well for a few years now…until today. Today, things were different.

I set up the correct chair in the garage and got out the clippers and Patty met me to complete the task. There are attachments, numbered 1 to 5, which you add to the clippers based on how short you want your hair; the smaller the number on the attachment the shorter the hair. As usual Patty started with a number two and cleaned up my entire dome. It only takes a few minutes. After that, she replaces the number two attachment with the only lower number, a number one. It is used to trim around the ears and around the back of the neck. The object is to blend the two depths of cut so that you cannot tell where the number two leaves off and the number one takes over. Now this is where the problem begins.

I guess Patty’s mind was wandering a bit because her first swipe of my hair with the number one attachment was a little higher above my left ear than usual. It no more hit my head before she yelped “Oooops!” “Oooops?" I thought. I knew exactly what was wrong. That was bad enough, but then she started laughing; not just a minor giggle but a full blown stomach shaking laugh. UH OH!

Then her instincts kicked in and she started patting my head as if it was a glob of clay that she was trying to reshape. Then she realized what she was trying to do and she laughed even harder. By then, I knew what happened, and I knew what she was trying to do about it, and she knew that I knew, but the whole thing was really rather humorous so I started to chuckle right along with her. I thought I ought to let her off the hook so I stood up and we hugged each other, chuckling together like a couple of laughing hyenas enjoying a very rare moment.

Finally the silliness wore down and I returned to my chair. Once again Patty grabbed the clippers, with the number one attachment, and took her position. We were both still smiling as she raised her hands to my head to resume the task. The trouble was, her mind was still amused by the mistake so she didn’t bother to concentrate enough this time either.

Yep, you guessed it. Another big swipe stole away yet another group of scarce and precious hairs on my ever-balding head. This time Patty lost control. She turned and faced away from me and buried her head in her hands and she was trying to stifle the laughter that she just could not contain. I have never heard her laugh so hard. If she would have drank any milk, it surely would have squirted out her nostrils. She could not contain herself. I saw her jiggle in places she never jiggled before. She was laughing so hard she was squeaking and making all sorts of goofy new noises.

I suppose some other fellow, who is more vain than I am, would have really gotten angry, but I have noticed the fellow in my own mirror and there is not much there to be vain about. Besides, laughing with my wife like that, after 40 years of marriage, is a much better use of my time.

Now my head looks like that favorite well-trimmed bush in your front yard, just after the milk truck runs over it. Even I can see the humor in that. Besides, 40 years ago I promised to accept her for better or worse and she took the same vows. I guess this is just one of those times when our sacred honor is being tested. I think we will get over it but I am going to have to wear a hat for a while just so she won’t laugh herself to death.

Now, how would that look on a head stone? “Here lies a woman who looked at her husband and laughed herself to death”

Until we meet again, watch out for the woman with clippers and the number one attachment.

BZZZZZZZZ!