Without a haircut for 9 months, looking in the mirror was horrifying. The wild strands tangled up my nylon brush. Hairs were clogging the drain. I hated not being able to naturally dry my hair and resorted to using a hair blower. And the extra time to shampoo a full head distressed me. I asked my husband if he would play hair dresser. His scattered brain tried to focus on my request. The cold scissor tugged against my thinning brown grey hair. When each follicle left my head, I felt lighter. I gave no instructions, relying on his logical attorney mind to create a successful result. After five minutes I became inpatient. “Aren’t you done yet?”
“Don’t rush me. What do you want me to do with the back? It looks messy. I can use your shaving razor to clean that up.”
I gulped worrying about the damage he would be doing. When he scraped the razor against my neck it tickled.
Upon completion I bravely gazed into the mirror. The transformation was brilliant. I could tackle the world with my new look and found another reason to love my husband on Thanksgiving.