Practice Does Not Always Make Perfect.

When my boys were little I used to always cut their hair.  We live in the south, they are boys, buzz, buzz, save 1o bucks.  No big deal.

Thing 1 was about 7 or 8 when he sat down in the chair in my kitchen, towel over his shoulders, ready for a haircut.  I had the clippers in one hand and, unfortunately, the phone in the other.  I made one pass over the center of his head and quietly hung up the phone.

A lot like this, but with less happy.

A lot like this, but with less happy.

That was the last time I cut anyone’s hair until my daughter was about 3.  She had never had a haircut.  Her hair was long and golden and so, so soft.  So long that it was getting in the toilet when she went to the bathroom.  So my husband and I decided to cut the wispy baby hair off, just the bottom 4 inches or so.  We talked about it, and for some reason, I have no idea why, decided that I could do it.

Even I can tell that this is not straight.

Even I can tell that this is not straight.

It makes me cringe just to look at the picture.  How in the hell?  Anyway, obviously after we got done freaking out, we took her and got it fixed.   It was a little shorter than we wanted, but it was reasonably straight.

So after that debacle, I had no intention of ever cutting anybody’s hair EVER again.

But my husband is a pain in my ass.  He cuts his own hair, and then badgers me until I trim the back of his neck and around his ears.  Every time I put it off as long as possible.  Every time I tell him I’m going to mess it up, and inevitably, I do.

Friday night I was working and he comes in and sets up a chair in my office.  I knew what was about to happen.  After he gets done and there’s a pile of hair in the floor he asks me if I’m ready.

I keep typing.

He starts playing a tune with the clippers.  Bzzz.Bzz.Bzz.Bz.Bz.Bzzzzzz.Bz.Bz.

Me: *sigh*  OKAY!

So I go over and grab the clippers and as usual, I have no idea what I’m doing and I start to freak out.

Me:  So…I can’t remember…how high up do I go?

Husband:  Okay.  You got this.  Find where you would make fun of me if I cut it up that high and where it still looks messy, and cut right in the middle of that. (Seriously?  Those are fucking terrible instructions.)

Me:  Hmm.  Okay. Buzzzzzzzzzz.

Silence.

Me:  Ahem.  I think I went too high.  It’s kind of…I think I went too high.

Husband:  You made me look like a dork on purpose, didn’t you?

Me:  No I didn’t!  I have told you and told you that I am not good at this!  I don’t know why you keep making me do it!

Husband:  Because I expect anybody, if they do something over and over again, to get better at it each time, not worse!

Trying to trim around his ears, I may have been a little rough.  I was upset, and also laughing.

Husband:  Is there something wrong with my ears?

Me:  No.  Not with your ears.

Husband:  Just what’s between them? (He knows me really well.)

Me:  Exactly.

About Steph

I like words. I suspect I would like sanity, but I really have no way of knowing. I can be reasonable, but not often. View all posts by Steph

22 responses to “Practice Does Not Always Make Perfect.

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