The road to becoming Terrorist Cupid

I'm one of the stupid people in the world who never are able to resist a dare. I think that's what contributed to the current condition of my head.

A month or so ago, I accidentally got a very short haircut. Well, the barber did exactly what I asked, and if I was a little shocked by the results, there really is no one else to blame. I admit to having fun during the course of the next few days, going up to the folks who work in my building and asking them if they wanted to see something really scary, then removing my hat.

It's amazing I get any work done at all, truthfully.

Now, it should be understood that the reason for that short haircut was the economy. I can't stand the idea of forking over ten bucks a month for personal grooming.

Sometimes I grab the orange-handled scissors and go hack at it myself out in the yard. Once it's sufficiently trashed, I ask Joyce if she'll "even up the back." Probably it would make more sense if she just did the whole job, but unless she's confronted with a disaster and must take action, she's not overly eager to cut my hair.

When I do get a pro to do it, I want to get my money's worth and not have to come back for three months.

Dire predictions from my boss and coworkers followed me home the day of the ultra-haircut. Joyce was going to make me sleep outside with the chickens until it grew back some, they said. I tried not to let that hurt my feelings.

Of course Joyce was fine with it. I suspect it's not the outside of my head that retains its ability to frighten her. "You might as well go ahead and shave it," she said.

So we're back to the dare. Did I have the guts?

The amount of courage involved would be considerable, despite the fact that I constantly wear a baseball cap in public. Occasions exist in which I must remove my cap, however, like during the Pledge of Allegiance, the National Anthem and prayers.

If you are a reporter who covers local government meetings in the Ozarks, you get to remove your hat a lot. You Easterners and Yankees may be offended, but that's how we roll.

Artist's representation only.
No one really knows what Cupid looks like.

Saturday I shaved my head totally bald. Joyce talked me into keeping the eyebrows.


It's not as easy as it sounds. It took about 30 minutes and 10 disposable razors. Halfway through, I thought we had run out of razors. Wild stubs of soapy hair stuck in odd patches all over my head. Joyce, in horror, offered to go to the store and get more razors. Then we found some old ones in a drawer.

"I like it," Joyce said after the job was done. I took one look in a mirror and saw Terrorist Cupid. I haven't looked again.

It's a long weekend, and as I type this Sunday, there are about 44 hours remaining for it to grow back before I go to work Tuesday. Already there is prickly stubble to be felt when I run my hand over it, which I can't stop doing. My head is developing a five-o'clock shadow.

Tuesday morning, there is a county commission meeting. If I go in a little late, I'll miss the Pledge and the prayer, so I can keep the cap on.

Ken York is the assistant editor of The Daily Record in Lebanon, Mo. He and his wife, Joyce, live in the Ozark woods as far away from other people as they can get.