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I Knew One Day This Would Come Back And Bite Me

Well, I knew this was going to come back and bite me in the backside.

When the pandemic first started, one of the other major worries besides finding toilet paper and paper towels was the fact that hair salons and barber shops were closed. Since I was just about due to get a haircut when they were shuttered until late spring, I ended up going close to six months without a haircut.

That’s not that huge a problem if you’re an old man that never leaves the house. You just put on a baseball cap when you go to the grocery store and nobody notices your hair now makes you look like Sly and the Family Stone with patches of gray and perhaps and area or two of thinning coverage.

But for women, I have learned, it’s different.

I have always thought that men’s hair just starts to turn gray at a younger age than women’s hair, because you really don’t see women graying until a good 10 or 20 years after men do. I attributed it to factors men face, for example, maybe job stress.

I have now learned the reason should be attributed to a bunch of chemicals in a bottle, administered at a salon.

At least in my house, that’s how some of those “highlights” were darkened. While my wife could administer that herself while salons were closed, she could not cut her own hair. So she one day asked me to.

“It’s a trap,” my brain told me. “Like asking if this dress makes me look fat.”

I had to admit the ol’ brain might have been on to something. But I went ahead and did it, and to both of our surprises, she liked it. For days she went on about how she couldn’t believe I did such a good job, pretty much in the same manner wives say they can’t believe their husbands remembered to roll the trash to the curb on Sunday night.

But a fear started to grow. If I did something like that with her hair, the day would come when she would offer to do something similar.

Today was the day.

A product arrived through the mail she was using that allowed for light touchups of sections of hair that had stopped looking the color of dark, rich coffee and had instead transitioned to that of a color more befitting, say, a Navy battleship. “This stuff really works well,” she said, taking it out of the box the good people of UPS had just delivered to us. “Want me to try some on you?”

That’s a negative, Ghostrider. The pattern is full.

Maybe I’ve just learned to age gracefully. Or maybe I remember the incident 27 years ago when she brought home a box of “Just For Men,” and after trying it just once on my salt and pepper hair, she said “I think it looks good.”

The next day when I went into work, it took all of 30 seconds for someone to say “well, good morning, Boston Blackie,” and I don’t think they were comparing me to the fictional jewel thief and safecracker. Or as one put it, “it’s not as bad as if you rubbed black shoe polish in your hair. But it’s close.”

No one can be as blunt as a co-worker can.

For now, I'm going to pass on this incredible offer from my wife. Gray is OK. Besides, I always thought that when you start dying your hair as a man, it was just part of some midlife crisis.

That’s why this weekend I may go out and buy an expensive sports car instead 😊

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Comments 1

Dave Scarangella on Friday, 05 February 2021 12:10
UPDATE: My wife just finished reading the story

She has just declared I must now run all stories by her before publishing them in the future

She has just declared I must now run all stories by her before publishing them in the future :D
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