Things got a little hairy in Paris. I mean, we weren’t really paying attention and then suddenly overnight it had become too much to tolerate.
Me: “I’m going to cut your hair!”
This makes perfect sense because I have a lot of experience cutting hair, like the time I chopped off Barbie’s mane. It strangely didn’t grow back but she seemed fine with it. We could have paid for a fancy Parisian haircut, but we were on a budget and I decided our money was better spent on Pain au chocolat anyway. So I picked up my scissors and Jared bowed his head. How bad could it really be?
I’d witnessed plenty of haircuts in my life; I knew what I was doing, maybe. I combed his hair and lifted a section with two fingers, put my scissors up to his head and started cutting. As I worked, I learned a few things along the way – like what not to say while cutting someone’s hair:
1. “I cut my own hair once, it was really uneven.”
2. “I promise it won’t be so bad that you can’t go in public.”
3. “Hang on, let me google ‘how to cut hair.’”
4. “What would it look like if I cut this whole section off?”
5. “At least you’re not on TV anymore.”
Alas, he survived and so did most of his hair, and he didn’t hate it! Or he was too nice to tell me he hated it.
Now about that beard…