I Let My Husband Cut My Hair

It Was Not as Romantic as I Was Led to Believe

Now, you all know that I am as cheap as a dollar store clearance rack.

This is why neither I nor my husband have gone to a hair salon in the last two years. I started cutting my husband’s hair after we got married. I had never cut hair before, I wasn’t particularly good at it, and my husband’s hair has a lot more in common with broom-bristles than anything else that comes immediately to mind. Still, I persevered. He left the house looking pretty sorry a few times in the beginning (like the time I accidentally put the size 2 guard on the razor instead of the size 8), but I’ve improved: nowadays his hair looks down-right respectable.

I’ve been cutting my own hair too, but I still have a hard time cleaning up the back. I try to do it with a mirror, but I get all dyslexic looking at the back of my head and end up stabbing myself in the neck with the scissors and things like that.

Last week, I decided that fair is fair: if I cut my husband’s hair, why can’t he cut mine, too? This is equitable, is it not? Besides, Bourne Identity had led me to believe that having your significant other cut your hair could be a super romantic experience (spoiler: ha, not really).

“What if I mess it up?” he asked, reasonably enough.

“I messed your hair up lots of times,” I pointed out.

“True.” (After a couple years of marriage I have learned that compliment-fishing of any sort goes over my very literal and honest husband’s head, so rest assured this was the response I was expecting.)

Still, he was reluctant.

“You know, you really could go to the salon if you want.”

“Think of all the other things we could do with $35.00. We could get teriyaki for dinner — twice.”

“Good point. Where’s the scissors?”

Five minutes later, hair wet and combed out straight, I was sitting in front of our bathroom mirror. Micah was behind me, holding the hair-cutting scissors with the air of a kindergartner about to plow into a brand-new piece of construction paper.

“Just cut the back section in a straight line,” I directed.

“How much should I cut off?”

“I dunno. Whatever you think. Maybe start by not taking off very much, then you can take off more if it’s not straight.”

I could feel great gobs of hair coming off and plopping wetly onto the bathroom floor.

“There,” he said, after several seconds. “I think it’s pretty straight.”

It actually was. It was about 5" shorter instead of the 1" I thought he would start with, but— hair grows. At least he definitely got all the split ends.

“Welp. I think I can probably finish from here,” I said.

Micah, obviously relieved to hand over the reins, relinquished the scissors. Two more minutes of snipping on my part finished the job. And you know, it really wasn’t bad. Certainly an improvement over stabbing myself in the neck.

“That was actually really easy,” said Micah. “And it looks nice.”

If there is a moral to this story, I guess it’s that, if you can keep an open mind and don’t have really challenging hair, you might be surprised how decent a haircut your spouse (or kindergartner) can give you.

If you are picky or have anything other than thin, generally straight hair … well, don’t try this at home.