When my second wife was killed I didn’t want to get remarried but our 4-year-old son was shopping in the Christmas catalogue for a new mommy instead of toys and that is when I decided to get with it, if for his sake alone. I started dating, first time in 25 years, and was that a downer! Every woman I met had more problems than I did. Most were so jaundiced by their past experiences that they couldn’t even accept a person as being natural and sincere. Anyway, after a little of that I decided the heck with it. I sat down and made a description of what a woman would have to be before I’d ever go through it again.
She had to be young, but not a kid. A little maturity along with a little naïveté. She had to be beautiful, not beauty out of a bottle but a natural beauty, inside and out. She had to be petite because I’m no giant. She had to have never been married, no step-children and either no parents or parents so far away as to not be a problem. She had to be genuinely sweet and warm and passionate and able to accept me as I am and give of herself equally. She had to be non-materialistic, because although I am capable of providing very well, I react badly when it is demanded of me.
When I sat back and looked at those requirements, I laughed and decided it would never happen because I was not willing to settle for less.
One day I was discussing this with an acquaintance who was in similar straits and we both laughed and said not in this country. Then he told me to try overseas. I began to try to correspond with women from several different countries, and found that they are mostly the same. Where the difference lies is they are mostly willing to say anything to get into this country.
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Then I began writing some women in the Philippines. Most of them however, were also interested in my standard of living, what kind of job I had, what kind of house, and some even asked for money. Then one day I got a letter from a young lady that struck me as different. She told me about her family and friends, her job, her religion and her dreams, which were simple and straightforward. She wanted a family, but wasn’t able to have kids herself. She wanted a home and husband to take care of and love, and she wanted to be loved and cared for in return, and that was about it.
As time went on we wrote and she was consistent. We began to talk by telephone and things were getting warmer all the time. She never asked for anything at all, just wanted us to know each other. I got her picture… no makeup, 5’1″ 108 lbs., nicely put together. Eyes that just sucked me right in. She apparently had longish hair, but it was always pulled back and the pictures were always straight on so I could never tell how long it was, but it didn’t matter, she was a complete knockout.
I made arrangements to meet her and set travel plans for Manila. She would be there with a chaperone and we would see what happened. She made it clear that she had had only one experience with a male, about 16 years ago, and she learned then that she would wait until married, and that included me, no matter what. A good Catholic lady. I agreed and the meeting was set.
The morning we were to meet came and a call came to my hotel room… she was in the lobby. I went down, trying not to get my hopes up. When our eyes met it was all over. I hugged her and she hugged back. She told the chaperone we were going to my room and to come pick her up late that evening and upstairs we went. She was even more beautiful in person. The most striking thing about her was her raven black hair. It was a little fine but extremely thick, shiny, soft and straight as a poker. It hung well past her waist and was as thick at the end as it was at the top. She had the most beautiful hair I had ever seen and I couldn’t keep my eyes off it.
We talked a while, then she took me to the bed and gently pushed me down. No, she wasn’t going to compromise herself on the sex issue, but she sure wanted to do everything else. She wanted to be on top and to be the aggressor and at first I didn’t mind. After a little while, I was getting really uncomfortable. All that beautiful hair was hanging down around my head like a black-out curtain. I couldn’t see anything, it was hard to breathe and God, it was hot under there.
Suddenly she sat up and I was relieved. She pulled her fingers through her hair and I just stared in awe. Then she shook her head and said, “Not good.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“What’s not good?” I asked.
“The hair,” she said.
“What would you want to do about it?” I asked her and she replied simply, “Cut it.”
“No way,” I said. “You surely do not want to cut your beautiful hair.” And she replied by nodding her head “yes”. I asked her how she would cut it and she said, “Short.” Again I said no and she confirmed she really did want to cut her hair.
We talked about it and she said she had gotten a short haircut about 10 years ago and didn’t like it but she wanted to try it again. I pulled her hair back in a ponytail and looked at the most amazing eyes and smile I have ever seen and knew right away she would be a real beauty with short hair, and I said so and this made her smile. We had previously discussed the possibility of marriage and by now we were talking about a date. The conversation came back to her hair and I told her she should wait until after the wedding to cut the hair and she agreed. I thought that time would probably change her mind.
After my return home, we continued to call each other and as the date drew near the conversation turned back to her hair. She wanted to cut it after the wedding. I said we had other things to do on the honeymoon. That made her laugh and we decided to wait until she got back to the United States to cut the hair. She agreed. I told her I liked a woman’s hair to either be really long, like hers, or extremely short. She asked what extremely short meant and I said cut with the clippers all over, short enough to not need to be combed. To my surprise, she agreed, stating simply, “If you want me to”. Suddenly it was my idea? Oh well, whatever it takes to put that hair on the barber’s floor!
Finally her flight arrived in the US and I was waiting at the terminal for her to clear customs. She came up the ramp with her luggage. There was that amazing fall of hair. Right then I decided it would never get cut. Wrong! While sitting in the airport waiting on the connecting flight, she saw a woman with a clipper cut, not really very short, and asked if it would be cut like that. I told her, “Not exactly,” and that ended the conversation. By this time I was really starting to get into the idea of getting all that hair cut off. She had never seen a pair of clippers and hadn’t been in a beauty shop in 11 years. Later I would find out that she had changed her mind about cutting it but had decided she had committed to it and had resigned herself.
After two weeks of hinting around about her haircut (suddenly she didn’t seem so positive), I finally got her up early one Tuesday morning. I had seen a small two-chair barbershop in a little mall not too far from the house. I had seen a couple of women sitting in the chair having their hair cut with clippers from time to time, and it was never busy so I had decided that was the place and today was the day.
When she woke up I told her to hurry and get dressed because we had someplace to go. I told her it was a surprise and hurried her along. When we got to the mall she asked if we were going shopping and I said, “Not exactly.” When we got to the barbershop she recognized the barber pole and looked at me with a little surprise in her eyes. I said, “Sweetheart, today is the day for your haircut, no more waiting around.”
She asked, “I will get it cut short here?” and I said yes as I opened the door and gently pushed her in.
The shop was empty except for one barber. He put down his magazine and stood up and asked if he could help us. “The young lady is here for a haircut,” I said. My wife just looked frightened and shy and didn’t speak.
The barber simply said, “Alright, the chair is waiting.”
With that he walked across the room and shook out the cape as I walked my wife to the chair and helped her up. As soon as she sat down, the cape floated down around her and the barber gathered all her hair and pulled it out from under the cape and finished fastening it securely around her neck. All that showed from under the big white cape was her sweet face, big frightened eyes and magnificent long hair. She started to tremble a little, but I ignored it.
The barber then began combing her hair down all around with long strokes and as he finished, he looked straight at me and asked how it was to be cut. Realizing that my wife would have no idea what I was saying, I hesitated a moment, taking in the scene, and then said, “I think a crewcut with a little fringe of bangs would look great on her, what do you think?” I thought I was going to lose out when he turned to my wife and asked her if she was there for a short haircut. In her mind she was, even though she had no idea what was about to happen, so all she said was a timid little “yes”. The barber turned to me and said he thought the crewcut would look good on her and then said, “Are you sure?” A chance to save her hair, but I simply said, “Yes, I’m sure, and just use the clippers,” I added.
She was facing away from the mirror and she really looked scared as the barber pulled all her hair to the back. He left it hanging loose but all behind her back so she could not see her hair. He then combed through it one last time and turned to the counter and dug out a large black pair of clippers. I watched as he cleaned and oiled them and then took a 1/4″ attachment and snapped it into place. All the time I smiled and winked at the victim in the chair and gave her a “thumbs-up”, trying to calm her down.
The barber came to the right side of her head and placed his left hand on top of her head and tilted it gently to the left. Then with the thumb of his right hand he hit the switch. The clippers popped to life and my wife jumped and tried to look around but his grip was too much and she sat there helplessly. She was trapped by the cape and his grip and seemed frozen in fear, like a deer in the headlights. He hesitated and looked at me and smiled. (One last chance to save the hair.) I nodded and said, “Do it,” and the clippers slowly approached the right side of her head. He rested them on her temple for a second then slowly pushed them up the side of her head. He slowly and deliberately worked his way over her ear and around to the back. I watched transfixed as sheets of beautiful black hair fell to the floor behind her, leaving on her head a velvety carpet of shorn fuzz everywhere the clippers touched. Then he pushed her head down and she closed her eyes. A tear squeezed out from each tightly-closed eyelid, but it was too late now. He swept the clippers up the back of her head over and over again and the rain of beautiful hair never stopped. The pile on the floor was growing, looking like a soft carpet obliterating the floor tile. Finally he had finished the left side of her head and the top hair, still about 5 inches long at the front, fell down around her eyes. She looked at what was left and began to cry. That was a surprise. What did she think short meant, anyway?
The barber combed the top back, pulled down a thin veil of bangs, and, producing a pair of scissors, cut them off at about 1 1/2″ long. Then he combed the top back again and picked up the clippers and snapped them on again. This visibly shook my wife and as he laid the clippers on the top of her head and began to pull them back across the top, she seemed to slump in the chair as her eyes closed again. He shaved the top slowly, the last vestige of her once beautiful mane rolling lazily down the cape and onto the floor, joining the enormous pile of soft black carpet that was once her beautiful long hair. He then took his time shaving the hairline. As a last measure he slowly swept the clippers over her denuded head again, making sure that all her hair was completely gone. He took off the cape and I helped her down from the chair. She had a scared pained look in her eyes as she looked at me and then turned to look in the mirror.
She almost fainted and I had a hard time getting her to the car. It’s been three years now and I usually let it get to about chin length before I bring out the Oster Fast Feed clippers I bought later that day. When she sees me coming she gets a sad look in her eyes but there has never been any argument. She says she likes the feel of getting the haircut and loves the fact that I can’t keep my hands off her freshly clippered fuzzy little crew cuts, but she says she hates the way it looks and longs for her hair to be long again. It has been about 13 months now and her hair is past the top of her shoulders. She keeps combing and playing with it happily. I guess tonight I will get out the Osters again but this time I think I will tell her, it will be shaved every three weeks from now on.