You know how they say never do business with friends? Yeah, the same applies to haircuts.
It was a casual Monday night. Per usual, all of squad was at my apartment for some post-chapter Cabernet and chill. One thing led to another, when my best friend suddenly turned to me and asked if I would mind giving her a quick haircut.
“You’ve trimmed Kerri’s hair before!” Rae exclaimed “it can’t be that hard.”
“Yeah,” Kerri chimed in, “it turned out fine.”
I agreed and confidently grabbed my lucky scissors, which had aided in many a tape over ID in our younger years.
I set up shop in the kitchen and started to trim. This is when all hell broke loose.
“Wait wait wait,” she said “I think I want it kind of short…”
This bitch then proceeds to show me a picture of the most complicated bob I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Keep in mind that I am a poli sci major. Why she trusted me to cut off eight inches of hair is beyond me.
I took another gulp of wine and snipped a chunk from the back of her head. Things were going great, and I cut it longer than she asked just to be safe. In about ten minutes, I had a pile of hair on the floor, and an all too happy customer.
Okay I thought. let me just see the front. I’m pretty sure it’s even…
WRONG. So fucking wrong.
I had somehow managed to cut Rae’s hair so that one half was about two inches longer that the other.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
“Oh my God? What do you mean ‘Oh my God’?!” she yelled.
“No it’s fine! I just need to even it out a bit”
It wasn’t fine. It was so far from fine. I tried to even everything up, and it just got shorter and shorter.
By the time Rae realized what was happening, it was too late. I got it as even as possible, and she ran into my bathroom to assess the damage.
“I LOOK LIKE DORA THE FUCKING EXPLORER!!!!” she screamed.
I started immediately apologizing, and happily took the verbal beating from both Rae, and the rest of the people in the house.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, Rae’s boyfriend Fletcher along with three of his frat brothers (who we forgot we invited over) walked into the house.
Fletcher cringed when he saw what I had done and proceeded to put both his feet in his mouth by adding “Why the hell do you have bowl cut?”.
At this point Rae was in tears, and I was mortified. Everyone but Fletcher had run out faster than Ted Cruz at a Bernie rally. I was trying to think of anything that could salvage the situation, so I broke out the flat iron.
“Here, let me straighten it, maybe that will help”
For some reason, she let me touch her hair again, even after I had practically shaved her head. I tried my best to style it, then moved out of the way so that she could look in the mirror.
“FORMAL IS IN TWO WEEKS!” she screamed at me. “I LOOK LIKE I’M ABOUT TO THROW ON A TOGA AND FLOAT DOWN THE NILE.”
“I’m just going to take her home” Fletcher said, and left trailed by my flood of apologies.
For the next two weeks, I was subjected to both jeers and sympathy beers from my sorority sisters. Rae was forced to wear ponytails and told everyone that we were “hammered” and that “it was a dare”.
Moral of the story: don’t fucking cut your friend’s hair, unless you don’t want to be friends anymore..