Actually, I think I will tell that haircut tale anyway.
Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin-
One day Sarge is sitting at the farm and tires of working on the herd of OD assembled there.
“What shall I do now?” he ponders, “get a tattoo? No, too complicated. I know, my Brain Housing Group is looking a bit shabby, I’ll give meself a haircut!”
How does one do this alone with no mirror, you ask? Well, you put on your soft cover and use your clippers to shave off everything that sticks out. It doesn’t take long.
Moving on to that evening-
I have been invited over to dinner at Sarge’s house. I am met at the door by his lovely but long-suffering girlfriend who tells me quietly, though her irritation shows, that Sarge has given himself said haircut. In conspiratorial tones she asks could I possibly say something to him about it and how it looks. I go in, and Lo! There the haircut is! Everything from mid-cranium down is shaved, everything above that is hair about 2.5” long. And he had his hat on crooked when he did it. He looks like a rat had gnawed on his head.
Now, being the thoughtful soul I am, always tactful and sensitive to the feelings of others (where is that laughter coming from?) I said something gentlemanly, like “Good grief man, it looks like a bloody rat gnawed on your head!”
Sarge, looking slightly pained: “Oh, you don’t like it??”
After some discussion, I ask his girlfriend if she would like me to try to do something about the state of his head, she says “Oh, would you?” and looks relieved.
I convince Sarge that his hair couldn’t possibly stay in its current rodent-induced condition, so with clippers in hand we head for the garage. A brief discussion on popular styles, some quick clipper work on the part of yours truly, and we are done. Sarge walks into the house and proudly shows his girlfriend his new white Mohawk haircut.
She gives him a rather displeased look, then turns a scathing glare on me, the likes of which I had only previously received from my ex.
Now, gentle reader, before you judge me too harshly, consider the altruistic reasons I had for participating in this miscreant deed. When I arrived that evening, she was approximately 88% mad at Sarge. After she saw the Mohawk, she was 44% mad at him and 44% mad at me. I am no Doctor of Connubial Confrontation, but I do know that is a 50% reduction in the strain on their relationship!
And in my own defense, I didn’t know he would wear the Mohawk for weeks.
Rather surprisingly, she still allowed me my dinner. I told you she is a lovely girl.
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