There’s something very satisfying about cutting my husband’s hair (almost as satisfying as shredding paper). It’s like organizing chaos, tempering the out-of- control, moderating commotion. The visual reward is immediate.
Since he is pretty bald on top, it’s basically just the sides of his head, his beard, and moustache that need any attention. With a few tools— a Wahl shaver from our son, a comb, and a pair of scissors— and a few basic lessons from IB, I have become a fairly expert barber.
Perhaps it is the deliberate resolution of the shaver or the literalness of the task, perhaps it is the task’s simplicity or its clarity of purpose, but, nonetheless, after I have cut JB’s hair, I feel centered, accomplished, and absolutely gifted. Oh, and did I mention the charge I get out of grooming someone I care for very deeply?