January 15, 2006

A Drunk Haircut

It's 4:27 pm. And I'm slightly drunk buzzed. In my defense I rarely drink, so when I do partake of something yummylicious like Baileys, (which is almost never) it doesn't take much before the silly grin sets in. And what do I mean by much? One tiny Baileys and a half. See, this is why I don't drink, and every one must think it's because I'm some sort of Puritan or something, which I am. Not

The Husband is currently being pursued by five different companies. He's thinking of spiffing up a bit and asked if I'd cut his hair.

I have no idea why anyone would want me to cut their hair. I shouldn't be allowed near scissors. My children would walk around looking like they had played beauty shop when no one was looking. Only I had cut their hair. When The Husband and I were first dating back when we were know-it-all teenagers he asked me to cut his hair. I was a little giddy then too. I don't remember what kind of cut he asked for, but I got so carried away that his bangs were a quarter of an inch by the time I was done. He had stubble all around his hairline. He had these little stumps of hair for bangs and when he looked into the mirror I was laughing so hard I almost peed myself. I thought for sure that was the end of R & M for-eva, but he just acted like it was no big deal and kept around and away from anything remotely sharp or electronic. His buddy shaved his head to fix my dastardly haircut and he wore a bandana for months. The funniest part was that even with his shaved head you could totally see how chopped the hair was at the hairline.

So when he asked me if I'd cut his hair, knowing I had a bailey or two in me I finally realized just how senile my 33 year old husband is getting.

You really want me to cut your hair honey? Well sure. Where's the clippers?