Quarantine Day 62: It’s come to this.
Updated: Apr 5
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.
I’m convinced that 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, seemed 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.