Good evening, dear readers.
Today was a big day for my husband. He got sheared like a sheep for his first day of work tomorrow.
After doing some measurements, my husband tied up his hair and I cut the tail off so that the barbers wouldn't throw it away. We plan on selling the hair and if no one buys it, we'll keep it as a trophy. It's too impressive to throw away.
Now sporting a Rolling Stones-esque moptop, we did a quick search and found a local Mexican barber shop. We had a few errands to run, so we went there first to get my husband sheared.
The barber shop was busy and a large TV hanging down from the ceiling had Maury's show on when we walked in. Fortunately, the wait was not long. The lone female barber on duty wound up getting my husband as her customer. He described to her the Caesar cut he wanted and let her go to work. She did a decent job, even giving his eyebrows a small trim. Needless to say, there was a substantial pile of hair surrounding the chair by the time she was done. I made sure to catch the whole event on video. It was not a continuous video since I wound up running out of space on my memory card and had to switch over to my phone's memory so that I could finish filming. My hubby was surprised that I filmed his haircut, but I did it for posterity. I don't know how long it will be before my husband gets to grow his hair out again. Needless to say, the barber was quite impressed when my hubby showed her one of the recent hair pictures I took of him.
You might think that I'm obsessing over my husband's hair. In a way, I sort of am. His long hair was an integral part of who he was. It belonged on him! It was distinctive, since men with waist-length hair are not a common sight and it was one of the ways people could recognize him. Physical appearance aside, the hair gave him character. It added to his image as an old bohemian, an autistic hippie who did his own thing and gave no fucks about flying in the face of social convention. Now shorn, he must blend in with the rest of the masses and cower before The Man to earn some money.
I don't know how long it will be, if ever, that my husband will be able to get hair as long as it was again. That's why I went all-out, for my child as much as for myself, photographing and videotaping his hair in its final moments. My daughter won't remember how long her daddy's hair was, and how she would pull on it to wake him up. She won't remember grabbing it when he'd give her a bath or chomping on it in play. If we have more children, they may not ever know of long-haired daddy in their lifetimes.
Good bye long hair. It was fun knowing you.
Today was a big day for my husband. He got sheared like a sheep for his first day of work tomorrow.
After doing some measurements, my husband tied up his hair and I cut the tail off so that the barbers wouldn't throw it away. We plan on selling the hair and if no one buys it, we'll keep it as a trophy. It's too impressive to throw away.
 |
| The End |
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| His severed ponytail |
Now sporting a Rolling Stones-esque moptop, we did a quick search and found a local Mexican barber shop. We had a few errands to run, so we went there first to get my husband sheared.
 |
| The post-tail moptop. Half mullet-half shag, and it still looks good on him |
 |
| Let the shearing begin |
The barber shop was busy and a large TV hanging down from the ceiling had Maury's show on when we walked in. Fortunately, the wait was not long. The lone female barber on duty wound up getting my husband as her customer. He described to her the Caesar cut he wanted and let her go to work. She did a decent job, even giving his eyebrows a small trim. Needless to say, there was a substantial pile of hair surrounding the chair by the time she was done. I made sure to catch the whole event on video. It was not a continuous video since I wound up running out of space on my memory card and had to switch over to my phone's memory so that I could finish filming. My hubby was surprised that I filmed his haircut, but I did it for posterity. I don't know how long it will be before my husband gets to grow his hair out again. Needless to say, the barber was quite impressed when my hubby showed her one of the recent hair pictures I took of him.
 |
| All done. No cameras please |
You might think that I'm obsessing over my husband's hair. In a way, I sort of am. His long hair was an integral part of who he was. It belonged on him! It was distinctive, since men with waist-length hair are not a common sight and it was one of the ways people could recognize him. Physical appearance aside, the hair gave him character. It added to his image as an old bohemian, an autistic hippie who did his own thing and gave no fucks about flying in the face of social convention. Now shorn, he must blend in with the rest of the masses and cower before The Man to earn some money.
I don't know how long it will be, if ever, that my husband will be able to get hair as long as it was again. That's why I went all-out, for my child as much as for myself, photographing and videotaping his hair in its final moments. My daughter won't remember how long her daddy's hair was, and how she would pull on it to wake him up. She won't remember grabbing it when he'd give her a bath or chomping on it in play. If we have more children, they may not ever know of long-haired daddy in their lifetimes.
Good bye long hair. It was fun knowing you.
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