“You need to cut your hair,” Chuck commented at the supper table.
“It took me five years to grow it out,” Cindy replied indignantly as
she sat down to eat. “Besides, you said you liked long hair.”
“Yeah, well that was before it started plugging up the drains and
wrapping around the beater brush on the vacuum cleaner.” Chuck observed his
wife of sixteen years as he reached for the salt shaker. She never used salt in
her cooking. She was his third wife, and he had considered himself extremely
lucky when he met her so soon after his second divorce.
“Why don’t you make an appointment at that place where you used to
go?” he continued, talking and eating at the same time. “You could get your
nails done while you’re at it.” She could do with a little sprucing up, he
decided as Cindy sat across from him not looking up. She was the quiet mousey
type, always willing to do anything he said. But lately…
“I think she went out of business,” Cindy said thoughtfully. “And I
don’t want to cut my hair.”
Chuck set his fork down. “You don’t have to cut it short.” He used
his hands to help her visualize what he had in mind. “Maybe shoulder length.
Just so you get rid of the frizzy ends.”
They had had this conversation several times already. And it always ended
with Cindy stubbornly refusing to listen to him. It wasn’t at all like her to
not do what he said, and it made him angry.
“Well, let’s not spoil the evening,” he finally said wiping his
mouth with a napkin. He got up and went into the living room and turned on the
TV. Cindy was such a slow eater. It took her at least an hour to eat a meal and
clean the dishes. Thank God, he’d talked her out of having any children. He
couldn’t imagine how long it would take her to clean up after more than two
people.
As he sat watching a dull rerun, Chuck thought about the most recent time
Cindy had refused to do what he wanted. It was over a stupid pantsuit he
didn’t like. He’d asked her not to wear it. She said she liked it; it was
comfortable. He’d even been willing to compromise and told her to wear it less
often. When that didn’t work, he burned it in the fireplace one day when she
was out. It had been a rare occasion when she wasn’t wearing the pantsuit. And
that had ended their disagreement.
Chuck wore a satisfied smile when Cindy joined him on the couch later in
front of the TV. He’d cooked up a plan. He knew how to end their disagreement
over her hair.
“Why can’t we watch a movie I want to watch?” Cindy asked.
“Because I’ve already started watching this one,” Chuck said over
the surround-sound blare of gunfire and bombs dropping.
“It’s another dumb war movie.”
“Shhhhh.” Chuck didn’t take his eyes off the TV screen.
Cindy sighed resignedly and curled up at the opposite end of the couch.
Several commercials later Chuck asked, “How ‘bout making us some
popcorn?”
Cindy got up without answering and microwaved a big bowl of popcorn and
came back with it.
“Hurry,” Chuck said. “You’re missing the important scene.”
She sat next to him on the couch, and they shared the popcorn.
The next commercial Chuck got up and came back with a bottle of cheap
wine and two glasses.
“What are we celebrating?” Cindy asked bewildered. She knew Chuck
kept wine for special occasions.
“Nothing special,” Chuck said. “Just our wonderful marriage.”
She smiled as they clinked their glasses, and she drank deeply. Chuck was
interested in the movie’s grand finale, but he kept one eye on Cindy and
refilled her glass as soon as it was empty. She always fell into an oblivious
sleep when she drank just a little bit. And while she was out cold, his plan was
to cut her hair and then tell her in the morning that she had done it herself
while under the influence.
The movie ended and Cindy was laid back on the arm of the couch with her
hair dangling over the edge. Chuck called her name loudly, and she didn’t
rouse. He snickered thinking how perfectly his plan was going. He realized he
was a little tipsy also when he caught himself tiptoeing into the bathroom.
“No need to tiptoe,” he whispered. “No need to whisper either,” he said
laughing giddily. At last he found the scissors in one of the vanity drawers and
walked out of the bathroom.
He watched Cindy’s peaceful unsuspecting expression as he walked across
the living room carpet toward her…instead of watching where he was going. He
felt his left foot become entangled in something and looked down to see the
shirt he had taken off and tossed on the floor during the movie. He also saw the
pointed scissors, but his reflexes were too sluggish to avoid falling on them.
“He’s waking up now,” Cindy said.
Chuck opened his eyes slowly. He felt an excruciating pain and looked
down in horror.
“We attempted to sew it back on, but too much time elapsed,” said the
doctor holding a clipboard and hovering next to the bed.
“You accidentally cut it off yourself while under the influence,”
Cindy informed him.
But Chuck knew better. Lately she’d been telling him he ought to get it
cut off. And he’d thought she was only joking.
