Sylvia's Journal

I cut my husband’s hair this morning. He insisted. Our daughters don’t allow us to go to hair salons – as these were labeled ‘high risk’ in a review to help us adjust to the current new normal. I had made an appointment and was sad to have to cancel, but our daughters are right. A stylist stands in back and above you, and you are just one of multiple clients during the day – therefore, high risk.

So, I have started to wear scarves to keep those darn wings in check and promised Axel I would cut his hair. This morning it was time. He sharpened the scissors and sat down in a chair outside. 

I had watched a few videos about how to cut a man’s curly hair, but all those men had heads that had nothing in common with Axel’s. In the process of my Google search (how to cut a man’s curly hair) some other questions were proposed, including one that said: at what age are men at their most handsome? (It turns out to be 29, stretching into 36).

It turns out that haircutting is much more difficult than I thought. It always looks so effortless when a professional does it, snip-snip. But then of course these snippers have 200 dollar scissors. Our scissors are a bit old and tired, despite this morning’s sharpening effort.  (Why are scissors plural?)

I wasn’t very methodical, mostly because I had none of those clips, and also was impatient. It soon became willy-nilly snipping. Axel got a little worried as he saw large clumps of hair float by on the breeze. I improvised until he said enough. He washed his hair and I am very impressed with myself. Now he is eager to cut my wings off, but I think I’ll hold off till my daughters show up next weekend. It’s been exactly 3 months since my last haircut.