No, no don’t go there … get your mind out of the gutter. We’re not talking about that snip. Eww! Far from it. The snip, snip, snip, in this case was us, this weekend. As we hit 150 something days of self imposed isolation from the outside world at large, we decided, you know, like you do, that we would cut one another’s hair.
It seems so obvious we could do it and, therefore, should do it … except we forgot the cardinal rule. Do not try to do the job of a professional just because it looks easy.
I mean, would either of us attempt to set a broken bone? No! How about write a will? No! Or maybe we think we can pull our own teeth? Now, wouldn’t that be fun? No!
Most. Definitely. NO!
But, like a couple of village idiots we took turns sitting on the side of the bath tub, and with a pair of school scissors, began lopping of bits of wet hair like we were Vidal Sassoon and this was the 80s … and pudding bowl haircuts were very much in vogue and chic.
Yeah … no. Not a good idea, let me tell you. 30 minutes of cautious hacking later, and a tub full of multi-colour tufts of hair, and we looked like a pair of extras from the stage musical, Oliver! Except, we’re weren’t singing for more, I can assure you.
After a lot of nervous giggling. That baseball cap I’d been wearing for the last month is now future fixture sat atop my head till, well, hell freezes over, or the pandemic ends and I feel safe enough to visit a professional hairdresser!
Photographic evidence? You are kidding, right? Neither of us is ever going to admit to anyone outside of this blog, what we did. Some secrets we will take to the grave.
Word of advice? Do not assume to think cutting hair is easy, it isn’t.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make a strong cup of tea and affix my baseball cap at a jaunty angel.
“The sun will come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow …”
