COVID cuts

March 2020. Just four short years ago. A time we’d all like to forget.

It was the month that kicked off all the madness. Just not the type of March Madness I typically enjoy. But, instead, a season of relentless kicks in the crotch that still have some people triple masked while alone in the car to this very day.

That’s right, it was the kickoff of COVID shutdowns.

And to me, the most horrifying of all the shutdowns was the barber shops. My head just hasn’t been the same since.

None of us knew at the time how long it all would last. As the days turned into weeks, I was looking more and more like a shorter, way less muscular, way way less famous and way way way less dreamy Jason Momoa. I needed a haircut, and I needed it fast. The problem was my barber was still closed down.

That’s when I heard those terrifying words from my wife, Megan, that still give me the night sweats: “I’ll do it. How hard can it be?”

I knew there was no way out of this. I still was holding out hope that everything would be opening back up soon, so I just said, “Ok, but just a trim. Use the electric trimmers to do my neckline and around my ears.” Surely, this was a simple task.

What I didn’t realize was she apparently had never in her life used, picked up, touched, looked at or even breathed on electric clippers. She didn’t realize there were different length settings or that the one she was holding, and moving swiftly toward my head, was on the lowest setting for the purpose of trimming around ears and necklines.

She thought she’d just go ahead and give it a quick test buzz around my temple area, not realizing that the purpose of clippers is to cut hair. The next thing I heard was a deafening zzzrrrpp and felt cold metal on a new bare spot on my head. I jumped out of the chair and vomited out, “What just happened?”

No response. Not good.

I quickly decided this little experiment was done for the day and sprinted to the closest mirror. My fears were realized. I was now a shorter, less muscular, less famous, less dreamy Jason Momoa meets a taller, more muscular, still less famous, but hopefully more dreamy Elmer Fudd. It was a good thing I’m a hat guy.

As COVID continued on, I eventually had to relent to full haircuts from my beautiful bride. And since, apparently, free is way cheaper than not free, I’ve been getting “Wife Cuts” ever since.

Once my son, Pat, was old enough to start getting his haircut, we changed that title to “Mom Cuts”, because I wasn’t going to suffer alone. It was his turn. I’ve even joined in on the fun of cutting his hair. I kind of took over, so now his haircut is just called “Daddy’s Revenge.”

Thanks to COVID, Tim (above left) and Pat (above right) now get the At-Home Special for their hairdos. (Photos provided)

In all fairness to the love of my life, she has gotten a lot better at chopping the cowlick-infested mop on my head. And I’m proud of her for taking on the challenge. She did something that she excels at … she took a difficult situation and found a way to make it better. And that’s why Pat and I love her. My daughter, Mary, loves her for different reasons since Megan won’t trust herself to cut her hair.

The moral of the story is … Don’t worry if your barber isn’t experienced. She’ll get better. Until then, just be a hat guy.

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.