Quarantine Day 62: It’s come to this.

My first time to ever cut the hair of a real person. I learned to become a stylist by practicing on my Barbies in the 1970s.

By SARA VANDEN BERGE

The Husband announced a few days ago that he needs a haircut.

Because of my knack for mowing the lawn, I quickly volunteered my services.

How hard could it be?

I honed my haircutting skills back in the 1970s, when I hacked away the hair on all my Barbie dolls.

I even had one of those giant styling heads I played with for hours.

My favorite toy as a child.

I’m convinced the time I spent as a child ruining Barbie’s glorious locks prepared me for this day when quarantine would prevent us from paying a proper visit to the salon.

So I was ready.

The Husband, however, was far less confident.

He sat motionless in a chair perched outside so I wouldn’t have to sweep the floor.

I gently snipped his freshly-washed hair with the same scissors I use to trim my eyebrows, and with each cut, I cackled loudly while he sat wide-eyed and silent.

It was fun, and doesn’t look half bad.

But it’s doubtful I’ll get a chance to ever do it again.