That’s Life

That’s life by Alan

I wasn’t really listening when she said, “We’ve got to talk. Let’s go for a walk,” she said. “We’ll go over to the nature reserve, it’s quiet there.” As we drove I asked her what it was about. “Wait till we get there,” she said.

I parked and we got out. As we walked she said, “I can’t do any more, in fact I’m not going to do any more to my hair for you.” I was stunned. “I’m fed up with it all,” she said, “pandering to your fetish. I’ve put up with it for years and now I’m stopping it. I’ve had enough. I’ve had to put up with remarks from my friends and associates for years about my hair and I’m not going to cover up for you any more. It’s your fetish and your problem! All I get is snide comments and funny looks. I can’t take any more, it’s going to stop.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. She knew all about my fetish before we got married. I’d even tried to break off the relationship fearing she wouldn’t understand, but she knew and yet still she married me. I’d had this thing about hair for years ever since I could remember. I thought I was weird, strange, somehow perverted about the fact that I got a kick out of women’s hair, or lack of it. I’d always liked watching women getting their hair cut or styled: in some way I’d found it a great turn on sexually. My preference in dates too had always been girls with very short hair, blonde or dark, it didn’t matter as long as they had short hair. Then I met her. I was in the Navy and when I met her at a shore base dance I was smitten. Small, petite and blonde, the fact that her hair was shoulder length didn’t matter to me, I was in love. Her Scottish accent sealed it for me, that was the girl I was going to marry.

As I said, she knew about my fetish and to my mind accepted it. After we got married she decided to change her hairstyle with no encouragement from me. I was over the moon. Well, over the years she had a hell of a lot of styles, some asked for by me and some off her own back. She kept me happy, in fact very happy and now she was going to take it all away from me. I was angry. “Why,” I asked “are you doing this to me?”

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“I want to please myself for a change, you’ve no idea of what I’ve put up with over the years: the looks, the remarks, I’ve even found out that some people have had not very nice nicknames for me. Especially the people in the office and the girls I travel on the train to work with. You’ve never had to put up with that have you?”

It’s true, I thought. I have heard remarks sometimes from people but I had always defended the way she’d had her hair and I’d told her that never mind what other people said it was me that she’d had her hair done for in that particular style and no-one else. If they didn’t like it that was their problem, not hers. Besides, having her hair cut for me was a guarantee that I wouldn’t stray as it was like having a different woman every so often, and that she was very fashionable – not like her so-called scruffy friends who didn’t seem to care about their appearance – but I digress.

What on earth was I going to do now she was taking control of her hair? I had no idea what to do. I could advertise on one of the hair sites on the internet but I did love my wife and I also loved short-haired women. Would she compromise? I asked. “No way,” she told me. “That’s it, no more.” My mind was in a whirl – what could I do? I thought back over the years and all the styles she’d had. I’d loved them all and loved my wife even more because of them. No, I thought, I’ll not stop loving her just because of her stopping. I’d not fallen in love with her because of her hair and so I’d not stop loving her either, but what could I do? I remembered the times I’d persuaded her to have this cut or that cut and it seemed so easy then but now! My favourites had been the very short crop she’d had when she’d had her hair bleached very white for about a year and then decided that the upkeep was getting too much. When we both went to the hairdressers asked for most of the blonde to be cut out, well the girl really went to town and she ended up with a crop that was no more than 1/2 inch all over and the dark blonde roots that showed through looked like they had been frosted with white. It was stunning. People asked where she’d had it done like that and how had they managed to frost just the very tips, but she didn’t keep it like that for long. I was disappointed when she grew it out but there was always a new style to come.

I remember one time we tried a new mobile hairdresser and when the guy turned up he practically fell out of his car, he was half drunk! But boy did he cut hair! He was excellent, but as we found when sober with the shakes he wasn’t very good. Still, it takes all sorts! I also remembered the arched bob she’d had. I’d had a word in the hairdresser’s ear as she wasn’t very sure about having it done so he persuaded her and the end result was stunning. It was lobe length at the front with the back arched up just above the ears and shaved down with 000 clippers. It too was stunning and again people used to ask where she’d had it done and complimented her on it.

Ah, sweet dreams of styles past but it was not going to help me in the present situation. Substitution? There was no substitute. I had to have the real thing, my fix as it were. She was adamant, no comprise either. She wanted this thing gone out of her life and if I didn’t like it, well just too bad. I could go too. Was there someone else? I asked. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you but that’s it. If you don’t like that then go find someone else to give you what you want.” I didn’t want her permission to have an affair or find someone else, damn it! I loved her and now she had cast the seeds of doubt in my mind, she didn’t love me any more! I’d been hurt. I’d never been hurt like this before by anyone. I was going to punish her, but how? I begged her to reconsider but no, there was no going back, she said, to the old days. She’d changed and now she wanted me to.

“You can’t change me,” I told her. “It’s been too long a part of me.”

“Then it’s over,” she said.

“No it’s not,” I said. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

It’s been 3 years now, she has it short but not as I’d like it. I’m lost as what to do: punishment cut? Leave or what? One day I’ll have the answer…

To be continued…

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