The Haircut

A week or so ago, Ron decided he needed haircut. In the manner in which he undertakes most projects, he set out to get it done in his new community. He had just left the office on a Friday evening, and it was nearing 7 PM, and he found a little shop that was closing up, but the hours stated they were open until 7:30 PM, so he knocked and the little lady let him in and sat him in the chair. As she prepped him, she asked, "What you want?" After some short discussion, my husband told her she could use the clippers if it was easier and the haircut began.

The clippers started buzzing away. Ron felt her take a long swipe from the nape of his neck to his forehead. Then he heard, "Ooooh, miy Lor'! Oooooh, miy Lor'!"

He couldn't see anything, but the tone of her voice and repetition was a bit worrisome, but he assured her it couldn't be that bad. He told her just to blend it in and it would fine...and if necessary she could just shave his head.

Then she said, "Eyebrows?"

To which Ron responded, "I guess?" He doesn't generally have his eyebrows trimmed, but thought if she was recommending it, he must need it.

When she spun Ron around for a look in the mirror, he had no eyebrows. She had cut such a wide deep swath through his right brow with the clippers, that in the end she essentially just shaved them both off in an attempt to "fix" them. A bit horrified, he sported sunglasses all week; however, not before scaring his current roommate, an ex-marine, to death with his new look after sneaking up behind him. Then he had to trim his goatee a bit to match his new look, so he was looking a bit clipped.

As I listened to Ron's recounting of the haircut, he kept repeating his attempt at a thick Spanish accent, "Ooooh, miy Lor', Oh, miy Lor'." He assures me he will not forget that phrase or voice any time soon. His brows have 10 days growth, so while they are a bit thin and short, I am sure they are not an accurate representation.

He forewarned the Safety Manager that it was not to be discussed at the office, and interestingly, no one asked. I would love to tip them off that the story (which I simply cannot do justice to) is worth the inquiry.

However, a few minutes after I finished giggling over Ron's story at his expense (but in my defense, it was completely the way in which he recanted the details with such seriousness and nonchalance that it killed me), I asked Nikela if she wanted me to make her a hair appointment to trim her locks. She affirmed my inquiry and explained what she would like and with whom. Then she added she would really like an eyebrow wax. Of course, this tickled my funny bone all over again, and renewed Ron's interest in the conversation. Of course he dryly responded, he knew a great place in California that didn't even use wax!

Giggling, we started the piano recital.