Shear Madness

           I don’t know what made me think that I could cut my own hair.

         You’d think it would be straightforward....cut-and-dried…..especially since I’ve done it so many times, but it never turns out right…and usually requires a repair trip (or two) to the salon. My poor hair stylist friend must get tired of biting her tongue and pretending I’ve succeeded, every time I get the compulsion to do my own hair. She’s talked me out of so many potential disasters, but on this particular occasion, my mane sponsor was not reachable, and I basically had no one to bring me to my senses and order me to ‘step away from the scissors…’ So, it’s her fault….

         I wasn’t planning on doing the whole head, but jut the fringe part….and maybe a little around the face. What could be so difficult about that? Having been to the salon since I was about 10 years old, I always felt that I could possibly learn to cut hair rather easily. After all, I’m observant and a quick study and thought that I’d essentially been in class while sitting in those fun rotating and crafty height varying chairs anyway. Engrossed and concentrating on the stylists as they shaped my mane into something manageable, you’d think I would have learned something…..through osmosis. I’ve seen hundreds, if not thousands of haircuts, and so what’s wrong in thinking that some of it may have rubbed off? Beauty school or not, wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that I could do at least as well as the gal who made my son’s hair look as if he’d been caught in a weed-eater?

         So, thinking that I’d learned from the best…and from my mistakes, I felt confident when I went downstairs and searched the junk drawer for my best kitchen scissors. My intentions were to simply blend the fringe into the sides, removing some of the weight and reshaping the angles around my face. I knew the lingo, and as it seemed pretty uncomplicated, I felt sure of the process.        

         It started out okay, with a precise little slice here, a strategic little slice there, but then, as my scissors were not all that sharp, I was forced to back the hair up the to near the handle of the blades and cut close to the fulcrum. Careful to not shape the hair into the dreaded Billy Ray Cyrus mullet of the 90’s, I was slow and methodical with each clip. It was all advancing fairly well, until a chunk got caught at the dull tip of the scissors, and as a rare stunner occurred, the utterly blunt blades somehow hacked off a 3” long section directly in front of my ear. “Okay then!” I said out loud, immediately surrendering to the botch job, and knowing that hat (winter) season could save me if all else failed. “So maybe its a few more layers than I originally planned, but it might be kind of cute…” And so I continued to chop away until both sides were equally pruned and an astonishing amount of strands coated the bathroom counter. Hmm.

         While drying my hair I noticed that the right side was a little thicker than the left so, equipping myself with my big Singer scissors, I again attacked my head. I was feeling pretty good about saving a $75 trip to the salon and actually quite proud of my skills, until I noticed the time and decided to pick up the pace in order to make my appointment only 45 minutes away. Quickly, yet still trying to be creative in eliminating some of the heaviness, I chopped at upward angles into the bangs alternating with slices in long swoops down the sides. “Ken Paves should be worried”, I thought…..

         Suddenly, in my overconfidence and lack of concentration, I somehow lost control of those scissors, and on a swift up-chop, plunged the blade straight into my left eye!  Ow. Holding my hand over my face and hysterically running in circles around the bathroom, I was terrified to look at the damage. What if I had blinded myself? What would I tell people? Not only would I have a horrible haircut, but now I’d have to wear an eye patch?! How pathetic would I look explaining to everyone that I was cutting my own hair (!) when I idiotically mishandled my scissors and cut out my eye in the process? I’d never live that one down. I’d probably have to move to another country…..

         But after calming down and realizing that my eye didn’t really even hurt, I decided to face the truth and assess the situation. Removing my hand, I noticed that my eye was completely fine! There were only a few tiny pieces of cut hair in the corner, but other than that, there was no evidence of any kind of eyeball violation or injury. Phew. Rejoicing, I started bouncing around the bathroom, then smugly decided that my brilliant idea to use dull scissors in the first place was what saved me from a trip to the emergency room and years of humiliation. You see there is method to my madness……everything for a reason….

         So, pleased with my handiwork and relieved that I still had two eyes, I proceeded to clean up the bits of stray hairs around the sink.  Just then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and to my horror noticed that my eyelashes over my left eye were…..half gone? My scissors had not cut my eyeball, but had instead sheared my lashes to half-mast!   Great.  Now I looked like I had a thyroid disease or that crazy impulsive hair pulling disorder….tricho-something-mania.

         And of course, the only false eyelashes in this house were the sparkly red ones my daughter wore for Halloween.   Deciding that particular look might not be the best for my doctor appointment, I smoothed my recently layered hair in towards my face and around and over my frameless eye.  I piled on heaps of mascara to the remaining mini-lashes, and put on a cap with a big low brim. Not bad….if I was going for the saucy-40-something-housewife-hip-hop-wanna-be look.  Maybe the red eyelashes would be okay.  Sigh.

         Hey, didn’t Paul McCartney start a whole new mustache and beard trend when he had herpes and used his hair to conceal the breakout?  Who knows, maybe the ‘one eyed shaggy kitchen chop’ will be the next new craze.

         Remember, you heard it here first.