I fell into a razor

Rather than pay someone $15 to drag a razor over my head for a few minutes, I bought an electric razor. Actually, Mom bought it for me for Saint Matthew's feast day a few years ago.

I suppose I could cut my own hair, but Mom doesn't charge, so it works out great. I have saved lots of money and never thought I'd regret it ... until today.

My liberal mom, I suspect, is still reeling from last night at her 50th college reunion when a friend she had not seen in years asked her if she was a member of the Tea Party. Granted, Mom was pretty conservative when younger.

She must have still been thinking about it. That's the only way to explain what happened this morning when she cut my hair.

I felt the metal of the razor right away, and I started to ask if Mom had forgotten something, like the Number 2 blade cover. She immediately stopped, and her face told me that she did. The cool breeze I felt down the middle of my scalp was another clue.

After showing me the start of my reverse mohawk in a mirror, Mom went next door to get my sister. She has a razor with a Number 1 blade (we lost our No. 1) and we thought she might have some ideas.

She came over with her razor and her family. My 5-year-old nephew ran in, started laughing at me and started referring to it as a "tomahawk." My niece, 7, apparently brought a camera over to capture the scene. Then my brother-in-law. I forget what he said and it wasn't his words. He has some looks, though, that said it all.

My sister cut it with the Number 1 all over, and oh my god it is short. I wish I could blame this on Friedreich's ataxia, but I can't ... unless ...

I fell into a razor.