The Special Moment

My wife’s sister is getting married this weekend and she wanted to give me a haircut. She cut my hair plenty of times and even the couple days before our wedding, but it didn’t turn out quite right yesterday. The weather was hot so I made us some Strawberry Margarita, but this time I put a bit too much Tequila and Grand Marnier. The cocktail came out delicious, so was the buzz.

She started to cut my hair with the blade guard. Everything turned out perfect until she took off the blade guard to do the sideburn and back trims. Of all the sudden, I felt the blade touched my head and it was not close to my neck where it was suppose to be. She freaked out and I told her not to worry. I asked her to shave the bottom of my head and to blend up to the top, but she apologized and broke down and cried. I pulled her into my arm and comforted her. I told her it was no big deal and she could fix it, but she wouldn’t even touch the clipper.

So now I am walking around with a hairless spot on the back of my head. I am actually proud of it. Every time I touch the back of my head, it reminds me of the special moment that I feel so loved even though I should have been the one that freaked out.