Guess who bought one of those electric clippers that they use at the haircutting place and tried to give herself a haircut? That is not gray hair, that is my white scalp you see there. It looks much worse than this picture shows. This is the picture of after they "fixed" it at the salon.
You see, when I bought these clippers a couple of weeks ago, I put the guide onto the end of the razor thing that lets you run it through your hair and will only cut it as short as whichever guide number you choose. I chose the #3 because that's what they used last time I got my hair cut. I thought I left that guide attached and put it back in its case. Apparently I did no such thing. Yesterday morning I whipped it out of the case and ran it up the side of my head around my ear. Then I stared in horror at the gash in the side of my hair. Actually, I didn't stare in horror, I laughed but my mouth was hanging open in surprise for the next half-hour or so. I don't freak out about my hair, ever. I just kept shaving in spots, trying to even it out. Barnaby came in there when he heard my shrieks. The conversation went like this.
Barnaby: "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!!!!"
Me: "I have the #3 on there! Isn't it supposed to keep that from happening?"
Barnaby: "You DON'T have the #3 on there. There's nothing on there. That's just the bare razor."
Me: "Oh. Why didn't you come in there when I asked you to and help me? It's all your fault!"
Barnaby: "It is NOT my fault. I told you to go to the barber."
Me: "But, but... just look at it!" (giggle, laugh, snort)
Barnaby: "Sometimes I seriously think you are retarded. Come on, let's go to the barber."
(We drive up to the hair place on the corner and walk in.)
Me: "My husband did this to my hair. Can you fix it?"
(They all look at him like he's a wife beater. He didn't hear what I said because he has his iPod stuck in his ears. He thinks they are looking at him like that because they think I am retarded. He just shakes his head like, "Yeah, I know. She's crazy.")