Before.
I hate getting my hair cut. Mainly the paying for it. It's not my fault I have hair, although my dream of being bald is perhaps coming sooner than I would have liked. Normally you have to go to a barber's shop, talk to him about some tedious shit, get thrown up on and then pay money for the privilege. But that's the good thing about visiting your family, you can just go back to being a child and they'll all willingly accept it. And that includes Mum giving me a haircut.
I need a haircut and, as you may have read in my last blog, I have an incredible need to test my parents just to see if they can still actually parent. Mum used to cut my hair all the time, mainly because I cried a lot at the barber's. It's been about 34 years since she last cut my hair. Has she still got it? Well, I for one was dying to see.
To be honest, I was hoping for a bit more joy from my mum when I asked her to cut my hair. She looked at me with a face full of worry. I thought it would be a fun test of her mothering skills but her face suggested that what I'd asked was horrible, creepy even. What's creepy about a 44 year old man demanding that his parents treat him like he's 7 again? Fuck sake, I didn't ask to be born. If they'd just reined their lust in for 5 seconds then they wouldn't have to cut this 44 year old man's hair because he wouldn't have hair or a body or anything. But no. My Mum and Dad just had to bang constantly, too busy thinking about their own groinal desires to spare a thought that maybe in 45 years time they'd have to cut a man's hair or not. Well, my Mum and Dad's erotic lifestyle has led them to this whether they like it or not. Remember that. Next time you don't want to cut a 44 year old man's hair, wear a condom. Stupid Catholics.
This is a test of my mother's parenting skills and it started badly. First of all, I shouldn't have asked her for a haircut. She should have just taken one look at my hair and told me that I wasn't allowed out until she'd cut it. So, already my Mum is on -100 Parent Points. Then when she finally accepted that she'd have to cut my hair she said "What style do you want me to cut it to?". WHAT? What the hell has that got to do with me? It's a Mum haircut. Mum's cut hair how THEY want it, not how YOU want it. I was starting to think that I may as well just cut my own hair myself because clearly this former good mother had lost her touch. She's now on -200 Parent Points.
But at least she accepted the challenge so there was no backing out now. I sat on a chair in the kitchen, just like I did many years ago, and Mum put a towel round my shoulders and got to work.
She was nervous. I heard the scissors and the electric clippers busying away at the back of my head but I felt nothing. "You might have to get a bit closer to my actual head", I advised and Mum explained that she didn't want to mess my hair up. Well, no chance of that happening if she's standing 10 feet away from me. You know what though? I didn't care how bad the haircut was going to be. If it was the worst haircut ever I'd still be chuffed with it. If anyone said "What the hell happened to you?" I'd simply say that my Mummy happened to me. I was actually enjoying the thought of walking around with the worst haircut on Earth and bragging about it.
Some hair fell to the ground. This is it! The haircut is happening. The back got the clippers very briefly, the sides got trimmed a tiny bit and the top never got touched at all. Then it was over.
That can't be it! Mum barely touched my hair at all. I looked in the mirror and it looked EXACTLY THE SAME. It did feel better though. Definitely shorter at the back but not noticeably. You'd only really notice if you were me or one of my hats. It felt like I'd had a haircut. I liked the feeling a lot but if you couldn't tell the difference then what was the point. Mum had failed.
Then it dawned on me. The reason I hated getting a haircut when I was a child was because of the fear of going to school on Monday and having vicious and nasty haircut abuse hurled at me such as "HAIRCUU-UUT! HAIRCUU-UUT!". And that was just the pupils! The teachers rarely said anything about my hair. It would be detrimental to their jobs if they did, I think. But Mum had solved that problem. I'd got a haircut that felt great but NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW. I went to the bar with my brother last night and NOT ONE person shouted "HAIRCUU-UUT! HAIRCUU-UUT!". What a cunning genius my Mum is. I'm giving her 300 Parent Points, taking the total Parental Test Score up to 100. Well done, Mum. You're great.
Tonight they're taking me to church. That's not going to be fun.
After.
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