Sunny Side Up August 30, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson The Preacher hatches a plot The Preacher entered the kitchen, opened the junk drawer, and replaced the long wallpaper scissors. Otherwise occupied, I didn't ask why. But at breakfast later, I noticed his hair. Marching well above his eyes along his forehead like the Great Wall of China. Blunt and slightly curled under. He reminded me of the salt and pepper shakers in my cupboard - two round little monks. "Did you cut your hair?" I asked, not believing my eyes, but remembering the wallpaper scissors. "Yes," he said, buttering his toast. I'd been noticing his hair. It had grown long around the ears and stuck out in tufts, like a chipmunk's. It curled up over his collars at the back, and masked his eyebrows at the front. His almost white beard had bushed out broad, like the Niagara Escarpment in full bloom. I'd said nothing, assuming he'd soon visit his favorite barber. Now I laughed until tears came. He ignored me, slathered on peanut butter. "Honey, wallpaper scissors aren't meant for hair! You'd better get yourself to the barber's!" "Why?" All innocent. "Because you look like Friar Tuck, that's why! People will laugh at you." "So?" "So�I don't like it when people laugh at you!" A thought struck� "Hey, why don't you let me have a go?" "No." "Why?" "Because." "Oh, come on. I cut my own all the time." The man may retain, deep within his sensitive male psyche, a bruising memory of my first - and only - attempt to diminish his locks - nearly thirty years ago. He never allowed me near him with a scissors afterwards. "Hon, I know I could do it. And you wouldn't have to worry about going out looking like that." He munched his toast. "I'm not the one who's worried about me going out," he said, around a mouthful. Husbands. Who can reason with them? This calls for affirmative action, I thought. I left the room, came back with sharp scissors and a towel, whipped the towel around his neck and started snipping. He shut his eyes. Praying, probably. The job took a half hour. Except for the eensy-weensy hole on the left side of the back, (which I duplicated on the right to match) and a very large bare patch on top (divine intervention) the do wasn't half bad. In fact, numerous compliments floated his way - his prayers must have worked. The wallpaper scissors, thankfully, have retired from the hair business. And the Preacher hasn't visited a barber since. Instead he bought me a proper barbering kit, and I shear him regularly now. Personally, I think he staged the whole thing, wallpaper scissors and all. If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing badly, I've heard. Either you'll get better at it or someone will come along, say, "I can do a better job," and take it off your hands. This works for everything from barbering to teaching Sunday School - and the new Sunday School term begins soon. If you're a regular attendee, why not volunteer? Respond Home |
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