Since 1996, I have been cutting my husband’s hair without a license. (Please don’t call the hair police because I didn’t charge him, although he always gave me a tip. Ooh la la!) I did it for him, but never thought I would need to do it for someone else.
But COVID19 has asked me to do things I never thought I would do, like entering a grocery store with my face hidden by a mask. Or, using a fishing rod to reel in the contents of my mailbox. Or, watching my hands shrivel and shrink from constant handwashing. And, of course, attending a meeting in my mismatched pajamas. I could go on…
This week I expanded once again and agreed to cut my neighbor’s shaggy locks, which she complained had been growing since the bird flu virus outbreak in 2005…fat chance, her hair is shorter than mine. Anyway, I donned my newly purchased, head-to-toe ventilated beekeeping suit and thick rubber gloves and poured myself a glass of cabernet. I added a (paper) straw, so I could sip it even with beekeeping garb in place.
My neighbor arrived at the agreed-upon time with a glass of wine. Her ever-present mask was secured by elastic, looped around her ears, but it passed across strands of out-of-control hair and I wondered how to cut her hair without cutting the elastic. As a creative and resourceful Marine, I dug out a roll of Scotch tape and taped the mask to her face. (Luckily, I had a spool of tape and didn’t have to resort to the stapler!) I then snipped a small incision in the mask for a straw for her wine. It dripped a bit but would suffice for a one-time chop.
I then placed my hair-cutting cape on her shoulders, lined up the scissors, clippers, and trimmers to go to work. You know us Marines: eradicate the enemy, leave no hair un-CHOPped. (Cutting Hair in Old People in text talk). It’s difficult to cut hair with thick rubber gloves, but we Marines are schooled to handle tough situations.
Ten minutes later, with a significant pile of hair on the floor, she looked in the mirror and breathed easy. She sucked down her wine, thanked me profusely, and then bragged about my hair-cutting skills to the rest of the neighborhood. Right now, a growing line of people, six feet apart, of course, all with bushy, un-cut hair stand outside my door, waiting for my CHOP shop to reopen. More Scotch tape, please. Also, more wine.
