'Baldergate' lesson: Don't forget to use the clipper guards

I knew something was wrong. Something was off.

But what?

I sat on a stool in our shower, ready for Mrs. Brad to cut my hair. But it seemed wrong somehow.

Mrs. Brad wasn't worried. She was enthusiastic. She started, swiping the clippers across my hair. Seconds later, I had an inch-wide bald strip across my skull. She had forgotten to put a clipper guard on. She'd shaved my head. Or part of it.

Mrs. Brad was stricken. She stepped back with a sick look on her face.

I realized what happened (no wonder things seemed wrong! No wonder I could feel the clippers on my skin!), but I'm an optimist. I thought, "It can't be that bad."

I looked in the mirror. I had a bald stripe on my skull.

Oh. No. It was that bad.

Let's rewind a bit. About six months ago, we decided to have Mrs. Brad cut my hair. For years, I've gone to the $25 haircut stores every six weeks or so and told them my preference. It used to be clipper guard No. 4 on the top, No. 2 on the side (Oh! A really sophisticated haircut!). Eventually, I wanted to stretch out how often I get haircuts, so I switched to No. 3 on the top, No. 2 on the side. (I've now done research. No. 4 cuts your hair to a half-inch, No. 3 cuts it to three-eighths of an inch and No. 2 cuts it to a quarter inch).

Using no clipper guard, of course, shaves your head. But we'll get back to that in a moment.

This wasn't totally new. When the pandemic hit, we did what many others did: We bought clippers. Mrs. Brad cut my hair. It was good enough, but she didn't like the challenge of the contrast: Where does No. 3 end and No. 2 begin?

So post-pandemic, I returned to my haircut store visits. Finally, I struck a deal with Mrs. Brad. If she'd cut my hair, she could cut it all the same length. No. 3, peferably. My hair is low-maintenance and if she cuts it, I don't have to wait at a haircut emporium.

She agreed. For months, it worked well. I'd need a haircut and ask her to cut it. When it was convenient for both of us, I'd set up the stool in the shower, she'd take 10 minutes to cut it. Then I'd use the Dustbuster to get the hair out of the shower and wait another six weeks.

It worked well until the night of Baldergate.

After Mrs. Brad mistakenly (and enthusiastically) mowed all the hair from my scalp, I looked in the mirror. It was shocking. All of my hair was about an inch long (that's not "long" for regular people, but it is for me) except for that strip. On that inch-wide script, you could see my scalp, shining under the light.

It was a reverse mohawk, except it was off-center. It was ridiculous.

My first reaction was to be positive. I told Mrs. Brad I could cover it, to go ahead and cut it regularly.

"How will you cover it?" she asked. I didn't know, but I envisioned wearing a baseball cap for a couple of weeks until it grew back. Yeah, a baseball cap in my office. A baseball cap at church. A baseball cap while playing basketball. Like no one would ask why I was wearing a baseball cap.

Finally, we agreed on a strategy. She'd cut it shorter than normal. It would be No. 2 (a quarter inch) all over, except for the part where no clipper guard was used (where it was zero inches).

It kind of worked. Kind of. Maybe. The rest of that night, every time Mrs. Brad looked at me, she started laughing. She told her mom about it the next day and again couldn't stop laughing.

I told my co-workers, who professed that they hadn't noticed, but then admitted it was impossible to miss once you realize it. My always-short hair was really, really short on that strip.

The day after Baldergate, Mrs. Brad had a positive spin. "You're lucky you have gray hair," she said. "If it was still black, it would be more obvious."

I guess that's something. But a two weeks later, I went to the DMV and got my Real ID driver's license, which required a new photo. So for the next four, eight, 12 years or more, I'll have a reminder in my wallet.

I'm having a bad hair summer.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.