Thursday, November 15, 2007

Snip, Snip


As a newly married couple living off one income in New York City, we have to cut corners. For lunch, we sometimes (depending how low the food fund is) swing by Westside Market for free cheese samples. Westside provides a bountiful assortment of cheeses from all over the world – from a Wisconsin dairy cow to a Tibetan yak. You name it – cheddar, Swiss, feta, Gouda – they have it, in bulk. Another idea for us to save money now comes at the cost of my husband’s vanity… his hair. We decided that I would cut his hair instead of paying someone else to do it. Honestly, how hard could it be?

I picked up our only pair of scissors and realized that this haircut had to look halfway decent because he had an important interview at work the next day. No pressure. Every time I caught sight of my husband’s face in the mirror a nervous, yet slightly merciless, laugh ensued. He looked frightened, unsure of my abilities. His skin turned a shade whiter and his brow dampened with sweat whenever the dull shears snipped off a lock of hair. I took art in high school and once did ceramics. I have steady hands and pay attention to detail.

I realized the true power I hold when I traded my scissors for the electric trimmer. My stomach flipped when I turned it on and lowered the guard to seven. My husband tried to give me directions, tips, techniques. I couldn’t hear him. Giddiness reverberated throughout my body like the electric current traveling through the trimmer. I felt this maniac side of me start to emerge. I really just wanted to grab his head and shave off every hair. It sounded like so much fun.

I trimmed the back. I rounded the side. Now it was time to “blend” from guard seven to six. I haven’t mastered the art of “blending” and attempted several different techniques. My husband glimpsed at the current technique I was using through the mirror. I swooped in and up. It seemed to work. But, somewhere between the “in” and “up” I took out a patch, or chunk, of hair directly behind his right eye. Not unfixable and definitely not intentional. I was secretly amused, but my husband was not. He grabbed the trimmers, lowered the guard, and worked some magic. Eventually, the patch (almost) disappeared.

One hour later, my first haircutting experience was over. The haircut turned out good, better than expected. It looks like I have taken on another role – substitute teacher, wife, cupcake maker, and now stylist.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Eliza,
Hey, I have been reading these blogs, and I think you have found your real job. You need to write. I have been entertained and energized from your blogs. They make me laugh so hard, and they brighten up my day. I am serious, you need to send in some of your blogs, possibly to a paper here in Ky or somewhere there in NYC. You have nothing to lose!
EB

Dame Wendy said...

I wish that I had thought of the concept of "blending" when I cut Marty's hair. It was a disaster we can only laugh about now.

Did some one say cupcakes? Mmmmmmmm

Anonymous said...

Cutting a man's hair, now that brings back memories. It's best if the little mistake is in the back...others usually won't comment on that "too short" spot. You can check the growth progress each morning as he leaves the house. It's a small thing...one best not mentioned.
Good luck!
CF