So why did my husband freak out so much?
Okay, he didn't exactly 'freak out'. He didn't cry or throw things or rent his clothes or tear his hair or run of the house screaming 'WHY, KERRI? WHYYYYYYYYY?'
|If my husband had his way.....|
But he did look horrified.
"I hate it," he said to me. "I hate it!"
I shrugged. "I really like it," I told him. "And there's nothing I can do now, anyway."
"Grow it!" he pleaded, despairingly. "I want you to grow it back! Now!"
My husband is 46 years old and has a masters degree. I hadn't anticipated his faulty grasp of the laws of biology and physics, but it's always interesting to learn new things about your partner.
"You do know hair doesn't grow six inches overnight?" I asked him.
"I can't look at you," he cried. "I'm not going to look at you till it grows back!"
"Okay!" I said. I poked him in the chest. He looked at me. I giggled.
Since getting my hair cut I've discovered that many men seem overly invested in their partner's tresses. They become distressed or unsettled if she cuts her hair significantly, with the level of upset proportionate to the number of inches trimmed. It's like a Rapunzel complex, only without the eternal youth, and I have to wonder what it's all about.
Perhaps men subconsciously link their own masculinity to the length of their partner's locks. Or perhaps some primal instant links long hair with fertility and the ability to skin and cook a woolly mammoth. Or perhaps they just like to see hair on the pillow that's not theirs. I DON'T KNOW.
All I know is that I love my new hair. And my husband seems to be getting used to it. Or at least, he's stopped talking about how little hair I have. Which is good. Very good. Because once we're on that topic, let me just say....