I cut Debbie’s hair the other day, and I cut it way shorter than usual. Debbie has long hair, and every six months or so she complains about how unmanageable it’s getting. Then I cut off two or three inches and everybody’s happy.
This time I took off about eight inches. That’s a lot. Her hair used to go almost to her waist. Now it goes just past her shoulders. She tells me her hair hasn’t been this short since she was six.
It wasn’t exactly Debbie’s idea. Just before I started I asked if she minded if I cut her hair a little shorter than usual. She shrugged. Sure, go ahead. I think she imagined a half-inch shorter than normal, maybe an inch less, tops. The great chainsaw hair massacre was not what she had in mind.
I must confess: this had been my plan from the beginning–it was a premeditated act. The irony is that I really like long hair on a woman, and it’s for that very reason I cut Debbie’s hair short. A little background may alleviate your confusion. Debbie wore her hair long all her life, right up until she had children. She quickly discovered long hair was a liability when it came to babies, getting yanked and tangled, just a nuisance. So she started tying her hair up every morning and had been that way ever since. Her hair was still long, just hidden. What a tragedy! The beautiful long-haired brunette I’d married had lost one of her attractive assets.
I hit upon a cunning scheme. I’d cut her hair short enough that it wouldn’t cause problems. She could wear it long again. The difficulty was leaving it long enough that she wouldn’t tip into murderous revenge. I began to cut with a sense of stepping off the edge into uncharted territory.
Like a model client, Debbie sat perfectly still while I combed and cut, combed and cut. As far as she knew things were proceeding as expected. The boys were clustered around, avidly interested in the proceedings.
I sat back when I’d finished. “All done,” I said, and held my breath. Debbie ran her hands through her hair.
- “It’s awfully short…”
Silence.
- “How much did you cut off?”
I measured a space in the air with my hands.
- “About this much.”
We stared at each other.
- “Where does it come to now?”
I touched her back where the hair ended. More silence. More running of hands through hair. Finally,
- “It’s awfully short!”
Then we both broke into a torrent of words, me explaining why, Debbie uncertain as to whether this was a good idea or not. She spent the rest of the day running her hands through her hair and muttering, “It just feels odd!” I spent the rest of the day complimenting her on how good she looked.
And it’s true. She’s been wearing her hair down now, trying out different styles–ponytail, braid, hair ties–and it looks great. I have my beautiful long-haired brunette back!
This episode brought to light some interesting insights into our relationship. Debbie trusted me to give her a good haircut, and when the dust cleared still trusted my judgment that the new look was A Good Thing. I was confident enough of her trust to push the boundaries a little (OK, a lot), knowing that regardless of the outcome she would continue to love me. We tell each other “I love you” quite frequently, but it’s another matter entirely to put that love to the test and do something unexpected (on purpose!) that may be hazardous to my health. And then to have my estimation of that depth of love and trust confirmed. I’m a little relieved that Debbie is OK with her new haircut. But to be honest, I was never really worried. Things turned out the way I thought they would. I am surprised at how much this tells me about my wife’s love and trust toward me. Happily surprised.
And I have my beautiful long-haired babe back!
