The Reluctant Barber

Marc and I have been an item for almost twenty years; I'd say about 10 years ago he announced that he was done going to hair salons or barbers and whatnot.

"It's dumb," he said. "It takes forever and they always do something wrong anyway. I want you to cut my hair."

"Me?" I squeaked. I don't know nothin' about cutting no hair I tried to tell him. But he wasn't hearing it. I really, truly didn't want to be his barber. I was convinced I'd mess it up and he'd hate me. He's kind of sensitive about his hair...don't tell him I said that, but he is.

So I fussed for awhile but he pretty much bullied me into it and now, for ten years, I have been cutting his hair. After each cut I still feel a little nervous that he'll be unhappy, but he never has been. He always gives it a comb, smiles and tells me it looks great. Then I tell him he looks great and we smooch.

That picture up there is after his haircut yesterday. And at the end when I said, "wow, you sure look handsome with your new haircut!" he said, "'Course I do. You can do anything."

And then I had an epiphany, ten years ago when he told me I was going to be cutting his hair from now on it was because he believes in me. I am worried all the time. I'm always afraid I'll mess things up and disappoint people, especially the people I love. Isn't it crazy that it's taken me this long to actually hear my husband.

Thanks for repeating yourself all this time babe!