Cutting My Husband’s Hair
Dear Dan of the Day,
To save money I cut my husband’s hair at home. This last time I really butchered it. What should I do?
Why do you say “butchered” like it’s a bad thing? Butchery is a proud tradition of precision and dedication. Unlike haircutting, it is one of civilization’s oldest vocations. (Cavemen didn’t even shave, let alone cut their hair, according to insurance advertising.)
Just think of all the famous butchers throughout history. There’s Lazar Wolf, from Fiddler on the Roof. Besides having one of the coolest names of all time, he also almost married the milkman’s daughter until she went for a poor, timid tailor instead. There’s also the Butcher of Congo, the Butcher of Hanover, the Butcher of Lyon, and the Butcher of Baghdad. Pretty sure they were all upstanding guys.
But I get what you’re saying. You messed up your husband’s haircut. Well, cry me a river. You know what the difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is? A couple of weeks. He could just wear a hat until it grows out a little. It wasn’t that long ago that men wore them all the time. Buy him a fedora or a nice bowler.
Or maybe you could just go the Yule Brynner route. You know, that my-bald-head-looks-like-a-thumb-but-I’m-too-awesome-to-care look sported by Bruce Willis, Samuel L. Jackson, Paul Shaffer and Mr.Clean. Or leave a little bit of hair, and suddenly he’s as cool as Shawn Connery, Patrick Stewart, Homer Simpson, Yoda and Britney Spears.
What I don’t understand, though, is how cutting his hair at home saves money. Where were you cutting his hair before? In a five-star hotel room? At the beach on a private island? On a zero-gravity airplane flight? If you’re having bad results cutting his hair at home, maybe you should try somewhere away from home that is still free, like a friend’s house, a public park or a Starbucks. And if that doesn’t work, you could always become a butcher.