An Un-Willing Hairdresser

When I first met Jbird, he was a 15 year old who seemed to have a different hairstyle every month.  Dreads, a green backwards mohawk, black spikes.  They went well with his unusual piercings and weird punk/skater clothes. Eight years later, when we started dating, he had long hair that he sometimes tied up in a ponytail. 

I can't remember how we decided this but I cut off his ponytail early on in our relationship and I have been his hairdresser ever since.  I can only remember him going to the barber twice - once for our wedding, and another time this passed NZ winter just before a concert.  I threw a tantrum because we didn't have any scissors that would actually cut.  That barber cut it far too short and it looked kind of dorky but I loved it.  All the layers were so much tidier than the ones I make. 

The barber is cheap, right?  If he got a barber cut every two months, it would cost us about a dollar a week.  But he says I'm practicing my skills for all the kids we're going to have.  "Annabel, think of me as a live model.  If we have lots of kids, imagine all the money we'll be saving if you can cut their hair."  My response was that he'd better be earning top dollar by then and I'd send them all to the hairdresser. 

My tools are a pair of $3 scissors, a comb, a rain coat, and a bar stool.  Today, for the first time, I nicked his ear with the scissors, drawing blood.  I asked him how he can bare to sit so still when I'm near his ears, he says he can always feel the scissors on them and he's always expecting me to nick him.  

The haircut always starts off pretty uneasy, I feel unsure that I can succeed, I'm quiet and stressed. Somehow as the time passes, the tension relaxes and we laugh together.  I feel completely trusted.