Craig has always been such a no-muss, no-fuss, low maintenance guy. He never wears cologne. He sometimes goes days without shaving. He’s lucky if he even remembers to look in the mirror when he gets dressed in the morning. And he only uses one product in the shower, which he worships: a 3-in-1 product (shampoo, conditioner, body wash all in one). His method? Pouring the product directly on his head, working up a lather, and then letting it run down the rest of his body so that the suds will catch whatever dirt in its path and wash it away.
I will admit, this uncomplicated simplicity is mostly why I fell in love with him. Though probably because I see him the way an artist sees a blank canvas upon which to paint a masterpiece.
But every artist struggles with her subject sometimes. For example, his haircuts have been a source of contention. His idea of a good haircut was to get it all completely shaved off so that within two weeks time, he can have a good looking haircut.
I thought that was completely absurd. Why wait two weeks for your hair to grow out into a good haircut? Why not get it cut and have it look good immediately? And who’s to say it would even grow out well? But again–uncomplicated simplicity. That was his thing.
It wasn’t until this week when we had some particularly cold weather that Craig came home from a long day, pulled off his winter hat and displayed the worst case of hat hair I’ve ever seen.
“What’s going on up there?” I asked, smiling and looking at his head when he walked into my office.
“What?”
“You’ve got some major hat hair,” I said. “You look like a mad scientist. Or Krusty the Klown.”
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. “Oh fucking hell.”
That pretty much decided it. I had plans this weekend to see my esthetician for my monthly facial treatment. She also happened to be located inside a hair salon. So while I would be getting my treatment, I scheduled an appointment for him to get his haircut.
While some women thought the salon or spa was their sacred space where they could get away from their husbands, I didn’t mind having him there. In fact, it was actually kinda cute that we would be spending the afternoon at the salon together. “Do you need any waxing done?” I asked him. We were sitting in the car in the parking lot right before the appointment. “Maybe get your back waxed? Get your chest waxed? Make you nice and smooth.”
“No, thank you.”
“There’s a nail salon next door,” I said. “You could get a manicure and a pedicure without polish.”
“Ok, c’mon. Let’s just get this over with,” he said.
Within a few minutes of Oahn getting started on him, Jennifer my esthetician arrived and called me in for my treatment (more on that later). I was a little nervous for him just because I had no idea what this woman would do to this hair. The last thing I wanted was for him to have a bad experience here.
But when I was finished, I met him out in the waiting area where he was sitting there reading something on his phone and sporting a very handsome new look. I smiled at him, “Wow you look great.”
The other ladies in the salon were totally gawking over him. “Your husband is so sweet!” Swan, the owner, said to me. “You trained him well.”
I laughed and Craig blushed, “Ok, c’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m already embarrassed,” he said. I thanked my esthetician and said goodbye to the other ladies.
“Oanh did such a great job,” I said as we got into the car.
“Are you sure? I can’t even tell,” he said. He was probably too nervous to really notice when she had finished. It wasn’t until we stopped at Taco Bell and he looked at himself in the mirror of the men’s restroom that he was able to take in what he really looked like.
“Ok, I have to say…” he inserted a dramatic pause, “This is the best goddamn haircut of my life.”
“See! I told you!”
All throughout lunch, I kept gazing at him from across the table. He looked so different. Like a new man almost. “I can’t stop looking at you,” I said. “You look so handsome.”
“Wow you’re totally into me aren’t you?” he said, really impressed with himself.
“Yeah I kinda wish we got our food to go. I want to hurry up and take you home,” I said suggestively. And then followed by my Joey Tribbiani impression, “How you dooin’?” We both laughed.
His new haircut gave him newfound confidence that he hadn’t known before. All weekend he strutted around the house like a stallion, chest puffed out like the only rooster in the hen house. I noticed he took Izzie out on a neighborhood walk despite the twenty-degree weather. And then Sunday afternoon, he said, “Shady’s? For dinner?”
Craig’s not usually one to suggest going out to eat.
“Wait a second! I know what you’re doing,” I said. “You’re peacocking!”
“Peacocking? What’s that?”
“You know, when male peacocks are trying to attract a mate, they strut around displaying their feathers,” I said. “You’re strutting around displaying you’re new hair cut! You’re peacocking!”
He patted his coiffed hair. “Maybe.”
I laughed. I didn’t mind. If all my husband needed was a good haircut to make him feel as confident as I believed he should be, then it’s worth it.
