Emergency Haircut

For some unknown reason, I've been drowning in a blogging funk.
Perhaps it was the mere craziness of moving while attempting to stay afloat in many other responsibilities.
When everything calmed down, I wanted to blog, but I couldn't think of anything good to write about.

Moving? Don't want to beat a dead horse.
The heat? Too cliche.
Olympics? I couldn't share anything you didn't already know.
My curtain drama? Perhaps, but I feel I've been complaining a lot lately and need something more lighthearted.

Lucky for me, the perfect blogging story took place last night. In our living room. While watching the Olympics.

Rewind to several hours earlier in the day when a conversation took place:
me: I really need my hair trimmed. Would you rather me pay $20 to get it cut, or just have you do it?
him: Fine. I'll do it.

My dear friends: husbands in Chiropractic school are meant to be Chiropractors. Not hairdressers.

After I gave him (what I believe to be), a very nice haircut, it was my turn. Of course he forgot the conversation we had earlier, or maybe he purposefully put it out of his mind, and with some serious prodding he finally took up the shears.

Red flag #1: "I have no idea how to do this".
Red Flag #2: "Whoa, whoa, whoa, you have layers. How am I supposed to cut that?"
Red Flag #3: "So, is there supposed to be like a 1 inch or less difference between the layers?"
Red Flag #4: *hack, hack, hack, hack* silence. "how's it coming, babe?" "uhhh...."
Red Flag #5: "So remember the first time you cut my hair? And it wasn't very good? Well, this is the first time I'm cutting your hair, so it might not be very good..."


After what seemed like an eternity, I, thankfully, reached back to feel how much had been cut off. I'm not entirely sure whether I gasped or screamed, but I quickly urged him to stop. He was more than content to do so.

source

For the protection of myself and my husband, I did not take a picture. 

Just imagine 3 distinct layers. In three straight lines. An inch above each other. No blending.
Lucky for me, our downstairs neighbor is LDS, has a hubby in Chiro school, and is also a hairdresser.
She got a late night phone call:

"So, uh, I wanted to save some money so I had my hubby cut my hair and uh, can you fix it?"
"How bad is it?"
"Well, I won't wear it down until it's fixed..."
"Ooh. Yeah, that's kinda bad. Come on down and I'll fix it." 


At 9:30 pm, I got an emergency hair cut.
His parting words as I headed downstairs: "tell her it's not my fault!"
I think he felt bad. Maybe a little embarrassed. But I was most definitely not mad. In fact, I was giggling pretty hard. So was my friend who fixed it.
I also felt much better after she told me stories of many other wives doing the exact same thing.

Moral of the story with my hair?: 

Always get it done professionally. 

Instead of trimming off about 1/2-1 inch like I had planned, it's now about 5 inches, or more, shorter.


And just a little reminder to myself: when messing with my hair, in my experience, trying to save a buck by doing it at home typically results in an emergency trip to the salon to get it fixed, which then becomes more expensive than had I gone to the salon in the first place.

I know because my hair has been bright yellow-orange before.

Dear hairdressers: 

I promise I will never cut or color my hair at home again. 

But it all worked out in the end, because now I have a super cute haircut that I absolutely love! Now, to just get it colored...

Kinda gives an idea of what it looks like.

I hate self portraits.