You Can't Trust Men

...when they're in a hurry.

Jay was trying to quickly pack (perhaps he should have done his famous "preplanning") before leaving on a weekend trip. I'd cut a few layers into my long hair the night before, but I couldn't reach the back. 
 

My hair's normal length

So although he was running late, I thought he could spare 30 seconds to trim the ends about an inch. He's done it before. In fact, he has trimmed the back of my hair every few months since we got married. It's not difficult. One little cut, straight across. 

But he was in a hurry. He grabbed the scissors, I heard a snip, and off dropped about two inches of cut hair. Startled, I remarked, "That looks like more than an inch." But the deed was already done, so I wasn't going to make a big deal about it.

Then he said, "Wait--it's not quite even," and cut again. I assumed he was just trimming a few straggly hairs, but in his hand he held about three more inches of my severed locks.

I gasped, "What are you doing? You just cut like five inches off!"

He looked at the pile of hair and said, "I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I just was trying to get it straight."

His eyes widened as he absorbed the extent of the damage. He hid the scissors, which was a smart move since he'd just cut off five inches of his wife's hair. 

I looked in the mirror in shock. My curls, suddenly freed from the weight for the first time since I was in Junior High, poofed out.

I resembled Bozo, the legendary clown.

Just call me Bozela

At that point, Jay said, "I'm so sorry! Um, I need to leave," grabbed his luggage, and bolted. Which was another smart move since he'd just cut off five inches of his wife's hair. 

I tried straightening my hair, but it kept curling under. I looked like the late Joan Rivers. Brunette version.

Photo of Joan from PopSugar.com

I called my mother for consolation. She soothed me with, "You always look beautiful, honey. I'm sure you're cute with short hair."

So, I sent her a photo.

She called back.

"What did he do to you?" she gasped. "It's awful!" 

I emailed the photo to a friend. She responded, "It's not bad. But it makes you look older." Great. Facebook already thinks I'm over 50 and looking for "older men" (for that story, click here.).

I tried pulling my hair back to see if it made me look younger, but then I looked like Becky Conner from Roseanne reruns.

Photo by Ron Galella/WireImage

Photo by Nastase Nuttiness

The next day I washed my hair and let it air dry after gobbing on gel to tame my unruly, clown curls. The styling product helped quite a bit. But I still had a triangle-head hairdo.

It gave me flashbacks to the 1980s. (I know you think I was a mere infant in the 1980s, but let's just say that I was old enough to walk and leave it there.) I totally had an overwhelming urge to throw on jellies and totally run to the mall for an Orange Julius. Like in a ripped sweatshirt, acid washed jeans, and totally rad legwarmers. Totally. 

For some reason, I just wanted to Dance With Somebody (with somebody who loves me. Oh, yeah. Uh huh. Woo!). I wondered if Walk(ing) Like an Egyptian would help my pyramid hair make more sense.

I don't often look at myself, so I kept forgetting that half my hair was missing. Every time I walked past a mirror, I shrieked thinking there was an intruder in the house.

Jay called several times during his trip to apologize to me. 

I told him that it was just hair.

And it would grow back.

And I love him more than my brownie-locks.
 
He was thankful since he knows that most women would be furious if their husbands butchered their tresses.

Yet I'm an example to all of a heart of forgiveness. 

And godly mercy.

And grace.

I also plan to give him a Mohawk while he's sleeping.

Verse of the day: (Judges 16:19) "Delilah lulled Samson to sleep with his head in her lap, and then she called in a man to shave off the seven locks of his hair. In this way she began to bring him down, and his strength left him." On a second thought, I need Jay to do heavy lifting and yard maintenance, so I may leave his hair unshaved. This time.

Bonus verse of the day contributed by Jay: (2 Samuel 18:9) "He tried to escape on his mule, but as he rode beneath the thick branches of a great tree, his hair got caught in the tree. His mule kept going and left him dangling in the air." At least I made sure that if Pamela is ever escaping through a forest on a mule, long hair won't slow her down. Knowing her, something like that could actually happen. #SilverLining

To read why I thought better about asking Jay, "What did I ever do to you?" click here for "Our Trip was the Bomb."

To read another story to prove I can't depend on Jay listening to me, click here for "She Said, He Heard."

To read about Jay's bizarre concept of "preplanning," click here.  

To read why Facebook thinks I'm over 50 and balding, click here. 


Followup: It was six days before I found the scissors. My hair-genius friend Amy made a house call and modernized the style of my unintentional bob, so Jay felt safe enough to return home. This time.