I’d been wanting to cut my hair for a while. The words of an old college chum still haunt me when my hair gets to a certain length: “You have a long face, so when your hair is long, too, it draws your face out more and makes you look like a horse.” Sadly, it seems like my face has only gotten longer with age. So, when my hair gets long, too, I look in the mirror and frequently see Weird Al Yankovic staring back at me, only not being funny and entertaining.
So, the hair had to go. I took a shower one morning and, seeing my hair already damp and straight, decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed the hair cutting scissors and was determined. But I hit a snag. Looking in the mirror and operating scissors, or just operating scissors when they’re turned back toward your head is harder than it looks in the movies. I was sure I’d end up cutting at a sharp angle by mistake. So, I called in my daughter.
She recently turned 10, mind you, and is therefore far more mature than she was a month earlier when not yet two full sets of fingers old. When I asked if she could help me cut my hair, she jumped at the chance, leaving her sisters and the TV saying, “I didn’t want to watch that movie anyway.”
We returned to my bathroom, and I soon realized I may have made a mistake. I watched my daughter grapple with holding the scissors. “That’s right! She’s a lefty!” I gulped but realized there was no backing out now. She was committed, so I would be, too. When she finally got her grip down, and I showed her how to use the comb to level the hair off, she had at it.
I couldn’t see what was happening in the back. I chewed my lip as I heard her muttering phrases like, “Just a little bit more right here (snip). And now just a little there. (snip).” Finally she was done, and for all I could tell, it looked pretty good. She proudly ran off to brag to her sisters about what she had done.
I’m sure you’re hoping for before and after pictures, but I’m afraid you’ll have to use your imaginations. There’s not much to say except I went from just below the shoulders to just below my chin. That, and I closely resembled a basset hound. My hair poofed out like wide, floppy dog ears, only hanging much higher up. It was awful.
My husband was quite surprised by the change when he got home, but even more so by the fact that I let our daughter do it. We returned to the bathroom so my husband could discreetly cut two chunks in the back that were hanging lower than the rest of the hair.
I told him my misgivings with the whole thing, due to the basset hound look. He said, “Did you blow dry it?”
“No, it dried on the operating table.”
Next time I’ll just be more patient and get professional help.
Addendum: Since I’ve received requests for before and after pictures, despite my assurances that you’d rather not see these, I will comply. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.