It’s eight o’clock in the evening and my phone rings. It’s Nikki. Nikki calling at eight o’clock in the evening means either:
A) she is in trouble, or
B) she is in town and wants to hang out
I pick up the phone, to find that today it is a little bit of both.
Apparently, as she was shaving her head at home in Jerome her clippers broke, mid-stroke. Dead. Finito. No more clipping to be done. She was in dire straits, as there is no store to buy a new pair of clippers near her, and she didn’t really want to shell out for a new pair anyway. She asked if she could come over and use mine.
ME: “Sure, where are you?”
HER: “At home, in Jerome.”
ME: “So, you are going to drive for an hour to my house, just to use my clippers for ten minutes?”
HER: “Yes, see you soon.”
An hour later a knock on the door and there she is. One bare patch of scalp showing in an otherwise dark mop of hair. I can’t help but laugh as I take her into the bathroom to setup a make-shift barber shop. I’m not sure what she was thinking, but that one patch is as short as you can get without using a razor. There is no option except to take the rest of it down to the same height.
We joke, we laugh, I give her a Mohawk. Then I give her a top-knottish looking thing. And then I finally shave it all off, as close as I can get with my buzzer. When I am done her head is a combination of tan face and brilliant-white scalp. My floor and sink are a mass of near-black fuzz.
She looks in the mirror and says she looks like a skin head. I can only agree. She laughs and says she will throw some tanning lotion on it to get it darker.
She thanks me for my help, gives me a bag of apricots as payment, and drives back home. I sweep up all the hair and go to bed.
A situation that is 100% Nikki. A whole lot of random, a dash of drama, and a bucket full of funny.