It all started my freshman year of college when a guy from next door came over and asked, “Can you give me a weight line haircut?”
I replied as a poor carless student, “Sure, if you’ll give me a ride to the store.”
I gave him a crooked cut, he gave me a treacherous ride to town, and a bartering business began. Amateur haircutting quickly became a great way to get favors and dates—and a husband.
Word got around campus that I gave haircuts and eventually a tall, dark and handsome art major knocked on my door and asked me to trim his mullet.
He hasn’t paid for a haircut since.
It’s been a labor of love, but there’s a monetary benefit as well.
If you take 23 years of haircuts, multiply by 52.1775 weeks in a year, divide by six-week increments, times by $15 per cut, factor in tip, inflation, travel time, vehicle depreciation and gas price fluctuation, times by pi before finding x and asking y, calculating the circumference of a man’s head decreasing in hair density over time, it equals about $2500 in savings.
Not a fortune, but like Dave Ramsey says, “A penny saved is a penny that won’t burn during Armageddon,” so we combined conserved pennies with saved dollars and shrewdly invested in a “no-lose” venture. We giddily geeked over the quarterly statements showing double digit percent returns for retirement trips to Barbados, until the investment manager got busted for fraud and had to come home from a church mission to serve jail time. All assets were confiscated to pay legal and debts.
Anyhoo, I still cut my husband’s hair, though my motivation has waned.
These days my poor sweetie qualifies as a Duck Dynasty stunt double before I get around to the task. But it was his birthday recently and I wanted to show him he’s a priority so I offered a trim on his special day, which was way before the usual desperate begging phase.
Even our teenage son noticed the early courtesy, “No way, Dad, you actually got Mom to cut your hair before you look like a doof!”
“Yep, Mom’s giving me a haircut for my birthday.”
“That’s your gift?”
“When you’re my age, son, you get acts of service as gifts.”
The guy whose head was under a blade didn’t comment, though he probably agreed.
Just as I was moving the hair clippers up the back of his head, the blade guard slipped off and I accidentally buzzed a rogue path from neck to crown.
He freaked, What happened?!”
I told him, then busted out laughing.
This birthday gift did suck.
I convinced him not to look in the mirror until I could fix it, which I did—mostly. There were suspicious traces, but sprouts of salt and pepper eventually filled in.
In life, if something sounds too good to be true it usually is, so beware of girls who offer to cut your hair for free the rest of your life and nice honest men who say, “Have I got a deal for you!”