Jay decided this weekend that he needed a haircut and, in a weak moment, he agreed to have me do the honors. So, after dinner, I turned on the spotlight on the deck, got out the clippers and a stool, and got down to business.
Giving a clipper cut isn't really too hard. Kim, though, asked me to let her take a peek at my work before I announced that I was officially done. So, after I'd given Jay's head a once over with the #2 guard, tidied up the edges, and blown the loose hairs off of his forehead and neck (they don't do that for you at the local barber shop), I asked her to come on outside and pass judgment. She stepped outside and took a look. I can imagine that Jay wasn't too thrilled (I know I wasn't) when the first thing out of Kim's mouth was the following question: "Do you have a plan?"
What kind of question was that, I thought? Jay's hair was laying in clumps at my feet. If I didn't have a plan, it was pretty late to start thinking of one. If I did have a plan, her question was a clear indication that I'd failed to execute it.
In any event, things weren't really that bad. Kim gave me a couple of suggestions (trim the sideburns, clean up the back of the neck, give the top another pass). I dutifully complied. Jay jumped in the shower to clean up all the loose hair and just came down for a final inspection. He looks pretty darn good. Salon de Miguel is back in business.
This is where the magic happens.
