In Response to Mr.Money Mustache "Get Rich With: Universal Men's Grooming Device"

If you have not read Mr. Money Mustache's blog post "Get Rich With: Universal Men's Grooming Device" do so now.  Don't worry, I can wait.

Ok, now we are on the same page.  If you are a wife and you are like, no way Jose will I ever do that, (completely with snaps and head swishing), hold on for just a moment and let me tell you a story.

I was raised in a really frugal home.  My husband.... wasn't(at least not compared to my family).

When we got engaged we were in that stage where you are more afraid to speak up when your significant other makes a crazy suggestion, and thank goodness we were.

Let me set the stage.  We are over at my future in-laws for dinner.  We've just had a nice dinner together.  I am fairly comfortable with them, but still a bit nervous because I feel so young (I was- I hadn't even graduated college- his siblings were married/kids).  Anyway, we talked about college, about my husband's job, you know, the norm.  Anyway, all the sudden my husband rubs his thick dark head of hair and says to his mother, "Do you think you have time to cut my hair?"

Gasp.  She cuts his hair?!  What?!  My family as super cheap as they were still had all the boys in my family go to the barber to sit with the men and have their hair cut, unless it was summer and then my dad just buzzed my brothers' hair.  Cutting hair was for the sorcerer's of the barber shop.  It was not a task to be taken on by normal folk.  It required mystical powers.

I waited for my mil's response.  "Sure, just go get a chair and a towel and I'll get the trimmer and scissors."

Is this really happening?  Is my mil who I know goes to get her own hair done every 6 weeks going to cut my fiance's hair?

I proceeded to watch as they put a chair in the kitchen, my husband took off his shirt and wrapped his shoulders in a towel.  She started by cutting an inch or so off his dark locks on the top with scissors.  My jaw must have been on the floor.  She was doing this like it was the most normal thing in the world.  Then it happened.  My fiance said to his mom, "Mom, you need to teach her how to cut my hair."

No, no, no.  This can't be happening.  I was one who could barely do Barbie's hair, much less cut a grown man's hair.  Uh, oh.  My mil is turning to me, "How about you come and I'll tell you what to do and you cut his hair this time.  I've been cutting it over 20 years and it is time for you to take over."

Oh no.  I am the most klutziest gal around and you are trusting me with scissors and his beautiful hair?  Now looking back I am glad that I was too nervous to say no, otherwise we could have wasted hundreds if not a thousand dollars so far on chopping his hair.

Needless to say, I did walk over and she started by having me use scissors to cut his long curls on the top of his head.  Ssssnnnippp.  I was the slowest cutter ever, and yet, ssssnnnippp- oww!  Somehow I cut my finger and blood started pouring out.  Where are those fast acting clotting mechanisms when you need them? It felt like I bled forever.  It was bad enough that I ended up having to go get a tissue and wrap my finger so that I wouldn't bleed everywhere.  Talk about embarassing.  Trying to keep a tissue around a bleeding finger does not exactly make you feel super confident.  Then, she brought out the electric clippers.

I didn't matter that I must have been shaking from nerves by this point.  My mil just kept plowing on, not bothered a bit by my clumsy bloody mess I had made of my finger.  She just turned on the clippers, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, and handed them to me.  Then, with the patience of Job and the confidence of Cleopatra, she showed me how to buzz the lower parts of his head.  That didn't go to bad.  I was feeling better after I used those.  In fact I started imagining myself on top of a riding mower chopping a field of dark brown grass (yes my imagination is weird like that).

After I climbed off of my mental lawnmower and put down the electric clippers, my mil pointed to his ears and his bangs.  Apparently we were supposed to go back to using those evil scissors and I was supposed to cut around his ears and cut his bangs straight.  At this point after my previous incident with my finger I was sure my husband was going to be the next Vincent Van Gogh.  I looked over to the scissors.  Clint Eastwood music was playing in the background.  I gave the scissors mentally my best Clint squintly eyed glare and told them (inside) that I was going to ... take... them... down.  And I did.  It ended up working out alright.  After my last clip, my mil pulled me back and had me look at him.  "We are the champions" started playing in the back of my head.  I did my touch down dance, in my mind.

During this whole traumatic event I realized I hadn't looked him in the eyes, but when I finally did I saw a man that had put his full confidence in my wobbley shakey hands and was smiling at me.  He looked great.  His hair didn't look half bad either.

Now, four and half a years later I am sitting on the couch writing this.  Looking over at him (he fell asleep during his tv show again) I think about how it is about time again to get out the clippers and the scissors and give it a trim.

Moral of the story:
If I can do it, anyone can do it.  You will save a bunch of money over the long run.  Also, he will get a consistent cut. Finally, don't judge your in-laws prematurely. You never know what secret tricks they've got up their sleeve:).

Good luck!  May the force be with you!