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I flipped the safety switch and power surged through my hand. Hesitating, the noise sounding both annoying and imperious at the same time, I took a deep breath. Placing the vibrating tip to the base of his skull, I pressed down. Mr. Right trusted me. I could do this. Couldn't I?

We both needed hair cuts, "needed" being the operative word here. I've worn my hair short for all my adult life because it's a gamine look on me with the bonus of easy care. Wash and wear with a bit of finger fluffing is all it needs. Every three weeks, like clockwork, I went to a stylist for a trim. Sometimes, I'd go shorter or longer, or blunt or choppy, or even whatever the professional wanted to try that was new and funky, as long as my hair remained above my ears. Neither Mr. Right or I have had a haircut since the pandemic began, and our hair styles look bad. I'm saying really, REALLY BAD.

I've taken to putting my hair up in small braids with clips and barrettes (purchased online and shipped overnight due to my desperate situation). I can now tune in a local radio station when outdoors that only I can hear. Or send a Morse code message of 'hello' to low flying airplanes by flashing the hairclips in the sun. It was time to change all that.

The husband agreed to go first. Having never cut hair before (I always left it to the professionals), I spent a week studying YouTube videos and Pinterest posts so I wouldn't mess up.

"Umm ... oops?" I muttered to no one in particular after making the first track upward. Unfortunately, Mr. Right was the no one who heard me.

"Put on the longer guard and keep going," he demanded. "Just cut it off!"

I did as I was told and went back to trimming. Buzzing up, never down, again and again and again. Patches of hair fell to the ground revealing my amateur status as a barber by the bald spots I left behind. Oops. I kept that one to myself.

Replacing the guard with a smaller one, I went over his head getting shorter with each pass. Finally, I took out a pair of thinning shears and went to town on the crown of his head. There wasn't much left to cut off, but I felt the need to finish with a flourish.

"Done!" I exclaimed and held out his hat.

"Don't I get to see it?" he asked, smoothing a hand over his bristled head while hesitating at the odd bald spots. He took the hat and put it on without another word. Bless his heart. It looked like I used a dull-bladed push lawnmower to cut his hair.

When he put out his hand for the clippers, I decided then and there that I might like to grow my hair longer for a change. At least until I receive the COVID vaccine and can get in to see my hair stylist. I've got plenty of barrettes and clips on hand. Besides, I found a radio station I like.