I cut my own hair

A pair of scissors.

I recently found myself the subject of a very British problem which culminated in me doing something daft – I cut my own hair. The situation was dire; it hadn’t been cut since before Amelie was born three months ago and I was starting to look like a Hobbit.

Something had to be done but, due to a combination of factors, it wasn’t going to be straightforward. Trekking across Middle Earth pursued by a scrawny multiple personality disorder sufferer and chucking a ring down a volcano would have been much simpler.

For the last couple of years, Kate has cut my hair. Despite never having had any training, she always does a cracking job and it eliminates the eternally awkward situation of small talk with a scissor-wielding stranger. Unfortunately, since we’ve found ourselves outnumbered by little people, there hasn’t been a moment.

There is another reason why Kate cuts my hair too. The last time I went to a barber, he was in the middle of a speech about how he takes so much pride in his work that a missed hair makes him feel embarrassed when he nicked my ear. The blood was quite apparent. It wasn’t gushing everywhere or anything, but it was running down my neck. He didn’t say a word about it and carried on. Naturally, I acted like nothing had happened too.

Before and after shots of a man with long then short hair.

Now, obviously, I didn’t want to go back to him in case he finished the Reservoir Dogs job. I still have Stealers Wheel in my head every time I walk past. The next option was to go to the other barber in the small town we live in. Unfortunately, it’s right opposite him. He still waves at me every time I walk past his shop, so I didn’t want to have to explain why I don’t go in there any more. Or, indeed, why I was getting a short back and sides from his enemy.

I had no option but to take matters into my own hands. So after dropping off Dylan and Xander this morning I hurried home, got the clippers out and stood nervously in front of the mirror. Being realistic about my ability to make a hash of such things, I erred on the side of caution and went for a grade eight.

The guide comb kept falling off while I was doing the back of my head, so it’s possible I may have some small bald patches but I can’t feel any. I also didn’t have the guts to use a lower grade on the back and sides so now have hair of a uniform length and look a bit like a chimp.

At least I didn’t have to talk about where I’m going on holiday this year though…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.