Oops . . .

. . . is not a word you want to hear when getting your hair cut. Here's what happened:

I'm minding my own business, editing my book for the umpteenth time, when Rick calls from the bathroom.

"Hey hon! Can you come check my work." (I know that sounds bad, but bear with me.)

On his own initiative, he decided to give himself a haircut. (He never asked me for one, so I don't have to feel like a neglectful wife.) He handed me the electric razor with the comb extension already attached. I assumed that meant he wanted me to check the top. Woops.

The first sign I was wrong was when the cut hair was A LOT shorter than everything around it.

I froze. "Did I just do a major oops?"

Rick eyed me, deadpan. "Uh, yeah. You just did a MAJOR oops!" Then he started laughing, which of course gave me permission to do the same. After wiping away the tears, I begged to take a picture before fixing it (I was thinking of ya'll.)

So now, while Rick is working at the Soldier's Home this month, he is better able to show his appreciation for their sacrifices. After all, isn't imitation the sincerest form of flattery?

And on the bright side, he won't need a haircut for a really long time. :)

What a good-natured hubby I have.