The haircut in progress, before it was saved. MARY ANN ROYSE/Contributed

I have the best wife in the world.

No, no, I’m sure your wife is great, too.

But mine stopped laughing, oh, 120 seconds after she saw what I’d done. And then she tried to help me.

I cut my hair. By myself. With scissors.

I’m sure I’ve done something dumber in my life but I’m struggling at the moment to identify it. Maybe that time I nearly burned the house down working on an electrical science “experiment” in high school.

I watched a couple YouTube videos on using clippers, and then went to Amazon to buy some. Have you tried that? The Seafood Festival might be back in Marathon before clippers are back in stock.

So on a late afternoon, I grabbed a mirror and took it out to a table on the patio. While my wife was busy with her work as a lawyer, I sat down.

“I’ll go slow,” I said. I snipped a bit of sideburn. Just a smidge. Then I did the other side.

That went well. But it took a long time.

“I’ll never get this done,” I said, and resolutely went back in the house for the big scissors.

They aren’t nearly as sharp, but what the heck, I went at it, up the sides.

I was careful for maybe 10 seconds. Why the hell did I get impatient? There is literally nowhere to go, no one to see and nothing to do.

After a few minutes, I set the scissors on the table. I got up and shook all the hair off my shirt and shorts. Well, not all of it. So that’s why they put that cape on you at the barber shop.

Back to the mirror. I’d made a mess of the sides, with long divots that weren’t even running parallel to one another.

What to do?

Start on the top. Duh.

That didn’t go any better, and just as I was contemplating going for the Michael Jordan look, my wife came out and saw what had happened.

Hey, marry the one who makes you laugh, amirite?

The guffaws subsided into giggles and finally ceased. She picked up the comb – I had delayed this whole endeavor until I found a comb, and then hadn’t used it – and started slowly erasing some of the tracks I’d left.

It was oddly comforting to have someone else cutting my hair. She moved with a confidence that I found reassuring.

After a few minutes – who knows how much time passed? – she announced she was finished.

No. What she said was, “I’ve done what I can do.”

I thanked her profusely.

It doesn’t look great. I did too much damage before she came to the rescue. But it’s not as shocking to catch my reflection as it was before she got there.

But I know this: Whoever said barbershops were not essential has someone in the family who can cut hair.

Also, I owe my wife. Big time.

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