Brandon’s dream come true. Sort of.

by Katie on December 6, 2011

Probably more times than anyone cared to read about, I talked about how Brandon had issues with my hair. How it was a daily, often multiple times daily, conversation topic around here.

Well, he finally got what he’d been hoping, waiting, wishing and praying for the past year-and-a-half.

As of yesterday morning, I am carrying around 11 inches less hair.

You see, like many men I suppose, I’d had issues getting Brandon to commit to taking ten minutes to snap a couple pictures with me to distribute in/on Christmas cards to friends, family and business contacts. Finally, Saturday night, while he was still working, I coordinated several outfits for him to select from for the two of us, and sent him a text reading:  “Tomorrow:  we go to church, take Christmas card pictures, then I cut my hair.”

And it worked.

I got my picture:

Brandon and Katie, circa 2011

Brandon and Katie, circa 2011

I didn’t exactly get to drive straight to the salon, since we had to make some major progress on our sausage production that afternoon, but I kept my word and walked in as their doors opened Monday morning.

Turns out, I got a free haircut since I was donating it, which was nice. And the stylist who cut it told me how she’d had breast cancer, lost her hair, and worn wigs just a few years ago. In turn, I shared how both my grandmothers and my mom were cancer survivors as well (my mom didn’t have chemo, so she didn’t lose her hair, but she did almost lose her mind during her three-day basically solitary confinement radiation treatment). “Someone is really going to appreciate your hair,” she said. Which was really nice. And all that is about as touchy-feely as this girl is going to get on the World Wide Web. Or in real life, for that matter.

I digress…

Back to the hair.

So, she proceeded to measure out an 11-inch ponytail, braid it, and chop it off. The stylist had some issues with whacking off all my hair. I kept having to reassure her it would be just fine, that short hair was really the norm for me, etc. (Although I may have let out a tiny gasp after the last stroke of the scissors.) When she finally finished the actual haircut, she said, “Oh, it’s cute!” in a “thank-goodness” kind of way. Again, I reassured her, “I told you it was going to be fine.” The whole interaction was kind of funny.

Anyway, now I have a long braid to send off via the United States Postal Service, as soon as it dries out. I would show you, but it kind of grosses me out, so I don’t really want it on forever.

I did, however, send Brandon a picture of it as soon as I got home with it.

I was out doing yard work when he pulled in that evening, and he walked over, looked at me with a big smile, and said, “My old Katie is back.”

Worth it, I tell you.

The front, however, is rather deceiving on the shortness of the back. (Because of the need for it to be chopped off in a ponytail, the back is really short and stacked up in layers that angle down into chin-length bob in the front.)

So, then I turned around.

And he was a bit shocked, to say the least. It was a quick maneuver, so he kind of stammered, “Wait…turn around again.”

So I did. The stylist let me check out the back several times in the mirror, and I had approved, so I thought it was perfectly fine back there.

Brandon, not so much. “Oh, Baby. They butchered you. It’s not even even back there. You may have wanted to upgrade from Supercuts for this one.”

I didn’t bother telling him it was Fantastic Sam’s, not Supercuts. I mean, same concept, right? Budget salon.

And whereas I have the, “It’s hair. It grows back,” mentality on any haircut, Brandon was standing there saying, “It’s not like you can just glue it back on.”

I have since attempted checking out the back in the mirror several times since that little encounter, and while I can’t really get a good view, I still haven’t found the “butcher job” he’s referring to. I’m thinking it’s just a little shorter back there than he was expecting, even though I properly warned him before I went in. And really, this haircut is what he’s been begging for at least 18 months.

Later, while we were having supper, I was in the middle of saying something, and Brandon interrupted with, “You really do look cute.” And then, a second later, “…Just don’t turn around.”


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