Firsts

Chris ordered a pair of clippers yesterday and asked me to cut his hair.

I was hesitant and took my time, not wanting to cut off too much at once.

The one other time I gave him a trim during quarantine, I used a pair of nail scissors.

You know, those tiny scissors you use to trim your eyebrows?

Yeah, those. I used those to individually snip each little strand of hair.

That’s just how I do things.

Chris, on the other hand, really just wants to get the thing done—whatever that thing is.

And so, after sensing my deep hesitation, as I half-hovered the clippers over his hair for the hundredth time, he took the clippers himself and starting hacking at the sides.

He was falsely confident that it couldn’t turn out too bad.

After all, “it will grow back,” he said.

Well, I don’t need to tell you that it was a mistake.

We spent the next hour trying to even out his hair, which now had a noticeable gap circling around the entire perimeter of his head, where the longer pieces most certainly did not blend with the shorter pieces.

I took back the clippers and took my time with each subsequent snip and buzz.

Slowly and miraculously, things started to look better.

After we cleaned up the tufts of fuzz from the bathroom floor, he observed himself in the mirror and half-smiled, “You know, this might be my fanciest cut yet,” while running his hands over his unintentional faded faux hawk.

I nodded and wished for a giant glass of wine.

And then it occurred to me that it was the first time I really cut his hair (after handling a pair of clippers, I’m not sure the nail scissor trim counts).

After 11 years together, we had another first.

There is always room for firsts.

Even after 11 years.

God willing, even after 30 years.

There is always room for firsts.