Yes, cutting Magnet's hair is definitely a chore. At first I thought it would be fun, and so did he...uh, not so much.
It didn't begin as a chore; it began when we were dating for the second time around (and that's a whole 'nother story) and he decided that I was perfectly capable of cutting his hair--his thick, cowlick crazy hair. "Sure," I responded. "If you really want me to." He takes off his shirt, I run my fingers through his hair so beautiful that it shouldn't be wasted on a man--what's not to love?
It was all chipper with me and the shaver, shaving away. There's not a whole lot that can go wrong with the #2 guard on. But then came the time for me to touch up his neckline. I must've been daydreaming about the variety of sure-to-come headlines about me, the natural hair-shaving prodigy, for a few seconds too long because when he gave me the razor minus guard back, I took it just below his earlobe and dragged it down his neck.
I somehow missed or misunderstood his very specific instructions. A nervous giggle erupted as I wondered if we'd still be engaged when he found a mirror because with the downstroke of my razor wand I took every last evidence of his hair with me. "Uh-ohs" went off like sirens in my frantic mind because my trail left his skin softer than a baby's bum.
We simply couldn't leave a zebra stripe on the back of his head and so he told me to just make it even. I did the best I could to correct the problem and meticulously made his neckline at least two inches higher than it should've been--an earline might be an appropriate term. Oops. My bad. I figure it wasn't so bad; it ignited laughter in me and my roommates every time we saw him. Plus, the fact that this infamous haircutting stint (and the handful of times I accidently rammed his Ford Taurus into things) didn't result in anger smoking from his ears were sure signs of his undying love. A girl needs experiences like these to know that Mr. Right is Mr. Right.
He must really love me (or really love saving money--hmmm...) because here I am his wife of four years and I'm off to cut his hair for maybe the eighth time in our marriage--it's a recent development, me cutting his hair, which is completely understandable. I'd certainly be truamatized if he did anything remotely similar to what I did to him. But the funny thing is, I've improved leaps and bounds and yet he's a little pickier now and expects it to take less than two hours. Whatev. Maybe I'll surprise him with some zebra stripes tonight to take the chore out of the chop and ignite some more contagious laughter.
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