“Yeah!” I replied, “What are you thinking?”
Scott’s face emerged in the companionway with an I-love-you-honey-and-I-need-you-to-do something-for-me grin. He raised a pair of clippers in the air and said excitedly: “Cut my hair!”
Not exactly the definition of "fun" in my book.
Considering I am not a stylist and the last time I sashayed into hair cutting was in 1983 when I butchered my little brother's bangs (the result was not unlike Jim Carrey’s coif a la “Dumb and Dumber”) this was a brave request.
But I rarely shy away from a challenge and, if nothing else, I figured I could have a good laugh if I completely butchered his ‘do. After all, he did ask me – a complete and utter novice – to use clippers on his head. If the results were disastrous, he’d have no one to blame but himself.
Luckily for Scott, he a) has a ton of hair (it’s insane how thick his mane is) b) he was very good at giving me instructions (he talked me through the process much like a surgeon would guide a resident through an open-heart procedure) and c) he’s so dang good looking that no matter what I did to his head people would still stop him on the street to let him know he’s a dead ringer for Ben Affleck (it’s true).
All in all, I think it went pretty well. Aside from the little snafu in the back of his head and the fact that I did cut the front a bit *too* short (what can I say, I loved Dumb and Dumber) – I do not laugh out loud every time I see him and that says something. Regardless, I’ll not be signing up for beauty school anytime soon and I’ll refrain from asking Scott to return the favor.