Waking Up to My Wife’s Hair

I woke up to not one or two or a few strands of hair in my mouth, but rather an entire mouthful of cherry red hair sticking to the roof of my mouth, invading my nostrils, completely enveloping my entire head. My first thought was that I had been transported to an alien world where the environment was completely covered in some weird, foreign flora that resembled the texture of hair. But then my senses kicked on, logic settled, and I realized that I was still in my own bed, next to my wife, and her hair had somehow found its way onto my head, as if it had a mind of its own and wanted to not only be the natural hair of my wife but also act like some sort of de facto, unwanted wig for me as well. Perhaps my wife’s hair was becoming cognizant and wanted to expand. The Napoleon of hair.

I refused to be invaded. I would not tolerate this transgression of my wife’s hair. A reasonable person might just roll over, but eventually I believe any reasonable person would realize that within the throes of slumber there would and will always be the possibility of accidentally rolling back over and yet again being awoken by the hair over and over.

I needed a more permanent resolution.

After nudging my wife in the hopes that she might come to her senses and do something about her hair, she grumbled incoherently and did nothing. She was too far gone in REM. She had once slept through a fire alarm in her dorm room in college from when some stoned, drunk twentysomething senior down the hall burned popcorn in the microwave. She routinely sleeps through violent thunderstorms and holiday fireworks that easily and routinely wake me up. 

Part of me feels as if I need to justify myself, to perhaps explain why I did what I did to what many would probably describe as a small infraction, if that. But I know it wasn’t right. I know I was just being an asshole.

Groggily, I got up, went into the bathroom, found the small pair of scissors that I primarily use to cut and trim my facial hair (though there was also that time I tried to cut my pubic hair with them, but accidentally nicked myself in the most unfortunate of locations on my body and vowed to never do that again, or at least not without any professional help), and I cut my wife’s hair. I did not cut all of her hair off, as she tried to claim once she woke up and realized what I had done. I feel it was a reasonable amount to be cut off in order for me to go to sleep without the threat of her hair invading my space, yet still retaining the bulk of the hair’s shape.

But, needless to say, she did not appreciate the impromptu hair style I gave her. She’s been in the bathroom for the past two hours crying. She hasn’t said much, other than I ruined her hair. I know I shouldn’t have made such a unilateral decision about her hair without consulting her first. But, and this might sound a bit cruel, though I hope not too much, I did finally get a good eight hours worth of sleep on the couch from there on out.