My Husband Cannot Cut Hair

Oh, If Only Mine Had Looked This Good!

One of the things that has happened to me is that I was in a car wreck.  Now, you who know my family, know that this is not an unusual event.  (Our names have been blacklisted at a couple insurance companies ...)  However, this was a wreck of epic proportions.  This was no fender-bender!

It happened after a killer day at work.  At the time, I was a legal secretary at a place that I dreaded going to each day. I forget now the scenario, but what I do remember is that my boss yelled at me and I was upset.  When my hubby picked me up that day, he could see the stress on my face.  Being a wise and loving husband, he suggested that we go out to eat so that I would not have to cook and clean up the kitchen.

We picked up the kiddo from daycare, had dinner and then headed home.  We were traveling in a Ford Ranger pick-up.  It was the three of us, with our daughter strapped in her car seat between us. It was a chilly early April evening and a light rain had fallen.

The road home has been appropriately named "Grapevine Trail."  As we rounded a curve, it became apparent there was "black ice" on the road.  My husband began to scream as he realized he could not control the vehicle. Before you could whisper "Jesus help me," we had rolled that truck over onto its side and landed in a ditch.

A ditch with water in the bottom. Not a lot, but enough to be scary.

Especially when I realized that the window had been knocked out and my long hair had flown out and the truck landed on top of my hair effectively pinning me down.  From my husband's point of view, he thought my neck might be broken due to the unnatural way my head was held back.

After taking inventory, we realized he was ok, our daughter was fine, but my arm was broken and I was stuck.

People stopped by, a kind friend took our little girl home with her, an ambulance was called.  (This happened in the days before cell phones.) One of the men that stopped by tried to help my husband lift the truck where I could pull my hair out.  They couldn't budge it. I was still stuck.

So, Jim did the only thing he could do.  He whipped out his pocket knife, which unfortunately was dull, and awkwardly leaning over me (there's not much room in the cab of the truck) began to whack my hair off.  I didn't know whether to cry because I was in pain from the broken arm or cry because I was losing my long hair ...

Finally, success!  My hero freed me.  I had to be lifted out of the cab of the truck. Because the ambulance had not gotten there yet, I was wrapped up in a blanket and laid in the back seat of a car belonging to a helpful stranger who had stopped to help my husband try to lift the truck. We didn't get his name and later I realized the blanket I was wrapped up in must have belonged to him.  

Turns out my head had a gash in it (not from my husband's pocket knife!) and I had to have stitches. A small area was shaved on my head to put in the stitches. Then I was discharged from the hospital.

On the way out the door, I told my hubby I had to stop at the rest room.  Good thing, my sister in law was there and offered to go with me.  Once I had taken care of business and stopped to wash my hands, I glanced in the mirror and she had to catch me because I nearly fainted. Who was this monster looking back at me?  I was swollen, bruised and dirty from the muddy water I had been laying in. But the real shocker was my hair! One side of my head had jagged ends a good 6 inches shorter than the other side.  Imagine a scarecrow's hair.  That was the look I was sporting.

And that, my friend, is why I say, my husband cannot cut hair.

I'm linking this up to Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Workshop.  The prompt was to take one thing from last week's list of 22 things you've done and give out the details.  My little adventure explains my #4 and #5 on that list. Click here to read the rest of the list. (Image from Google Images)