Butchered by a Barber but I Deserved It

Hi friends,

It's been a while since I've been here so I have a lot of catching up to do, but it's my commitment to do so.

Today I've got a quick story about a barber and me, only you've got to promise, pinkie promise you wouldn't laugh, all right?

So get this, a few months ago, I was butchered by a barber- not my regular barber, a handsome stranger that I considered to be eye candy. This is my story.

Before I decided to cut my hair, I'd been growing it for about a year or two, actually probably since 2019 when we were on COVID-19 related lockdowns in my country.

At that time, a lot of businesses, including barbers and hairdressers were forced to close their shops, and while they were doing home visits, I wasn't really comfortable inviting a barber into my home, so I grew my hair out, right? Simple. And after a while, I was quite pleased with the length so I just stuck with it.

This year though, my hair got very brittle and started to break. Might be stress, I don't know. Anyways, I decided to catch up with a barber and get a nice, little trim, kinda faded but still feminine. Nope, I do not think that that's an oxymoron.

One Saturday, my husband and I got into our car and got ready to go to the barber that I usually trusted with my hair.

On the way there, I had to make a business drop off and in doing so, I glimpsed a new barber shop and I decided to check it out because I thought the barber was really handsome, like magazine cover handsome. Yes, I'm happily married. No, it's not cheating if you look- well, unless it's your partner who's doing the looking. 😂

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So I got out of the car, went into the barber shop- which was empty except for his music DJ set up, and maybe that should have been the first red flag but I was blinded- and I asked the guy if he could trim hair like mine. He said yes and I told my husband that I would stay, and sat down and waited.

My friends, the barber took maybe twenty minutes scrolling through pictures on his phone trying to find a picture of a haircut for me. When eventually he gave up and handed me his phone and asked me to look it up, that should have been my second red flag, but I was blinded. And so, helpfully, I found a picture, showed it to him and settled back into my seat and into daydreaming about the hunk of a guy trimming my hair.

So you know where this is going, right?

Half an hour later, I was shorn, the barber was finished, and he turned my chair around so I could look into the mirror. And honestly, when I saw myself, I was flabbergasted. I was stunned silent and I'm not usually at a loss for words.

I was looking like I only needed a pair of Aladdin jeans and a tank top to fit right into one of those 1990s music videos singing, "Can't touch this."

I wanted something like this:

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I got this...

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And I've got a sizeable forehead, right, which I'm proud of, but I don't go about accentuating it like my brains are an accessory.

I looked ripped. I looked like I could hold my husband in a headlock.

Of course I tried to be a good sport about it, thanked the barber publicly, paid, and privately resolved NEVER to return.

Back in the car, my husband couldn't meet my eye without smiling. My husband's the taciturn type. He usually doesn't say much, and he's quite good at inscrutable facial expressions. But this was too much for him, particularly since our children who were also in the car with us had no qualms about sharing their views about my hair.

"What is THAT?!" yelled my 12 year old. "Mummy, that's TERRIBLE!"

"Buzz Lightyear," muttered my eight year old.

"No," I said. "It's MC Hammer."

"Terminator," my 14 year old choked.

Then he snorted and I turned to look at him and he was convulsing in his seat, tears in his eyes and snot leaking from his nose.

My husband's grin widened, he really couldn't help it, but he kept his eyes on the road.

"What do you say to those barbers?" he questioned. "I honestly feel like you give them the wrong directions."

"Aunty," my four year old nephew who was spending a few days with us, took his thumb out of his mouth to contribute. "Aunty, your hair was fine before. You should have never cut it. This does not look good."

For a moment, I lamented.

"How am I going to face my real barber now that I have this mullet?" I questioned. My eldest son snorted again.

Well, friends, all's well that ends well. After we all accepted that there was absolutely no way I could face my original barber after that fiasco, we settled on a wig. After all, in my country, a lot of credence is placed on a woman's beauty by way of her hair, her crown, etc. But the way I saw it, honestly, it's just hair. Hair grows back. And it's always good to have a healthy laugh. Besides, it's what you get for cheating... on your barber.

And so, I hope you enjoyed my story, my friends, but please don't expect me to share any pictures of my actual haircut, all right? That would just be taking a good joke too far. 😂

Have a great weekend, everyone!