The Haircut

When I was 14, I decided it would be a good idea if I shaved my head. I’d asked my mum if I could have a ‘grade 1 all over’ but she’d refused on the account that she thought I’d look like a thug. I tried to argue that it would save me time in the mornings, plus keep me cool (it was the Summer), but still she wouldn’t let me, so I did what any young boy would do; I did it anyway.

 I waited for her to go shopping one Saturday afternoon, retrieved the clippers from the bathroom, and got to work. As my hair cascaded down off my shoulders and onto the floor, I started wondering about how much trouble I’d get into. I realised that I’d made a mistake but I’d gone so far that I had to finish off the job regardless. After shaving off the remainder of my hair, I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like a thug at all – more like The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas with an illness. Panic set in, so I ran out of the house and to the park to play footy with my friends.

 They all loved my new look. I was greeted with shouts of ‘SKIN HEAD’ and they all wanted to stroke my fuzzy scalp. It made me feel better about what I’d done and I soon forgot all about the trouble I’d get into when I got home.  A couple of hours passed, and everyone had to go home for dinner. Reluctantly I made my way home. My mum was still out; result!

 “What the fuck have you done?” were my brothers exact words as I walked into the kitchen.

 “What does it look like?”

 He started laughing at me.

 “Mum’s going to kill you. Hahahaha. This is going to be brilliant. I knew you’d done it because I saw all the hair in the bin. You utter wanker!”

 By now I was bricking it.

 “What shall I do? Can we try and sort of stick it back on do you think?”

 My brother laughed.

 “It’s all in the bin mate. You’re dead!”

 I was in big trouble. I even thought about shaving both of the cats and using their fur on my head. I had to do something. Anything. As thoughts raced through my brain, I heard a car pull up on the drive. My brother looked out and confirmed my fears that mum was home. I grabbed a black sweatshirt, and tied in around the top of my head; I copied the way I’d seen ladies wrap towels around their wet hair.

 My mum came into the kitchen and started putting the food she’d just bought away, whilst asking what we’d been up to. Eventually she looked at me and asked why I had a jumper on my head.

 “Errmmm, well we were playing football and I wanted to be Ruud Gullit, so I just played like this because it’s like I have dreads”

 “You pillock, you look more like that woman from M-People”

 I’d gotten away with it, for now at least. For the whole evening and the following day, I managed to go about my business with my shaved head without my mum noticing, by just wearing a jumper on my head when I came out of my bedroom. However, Monday morning came and the inevitable happened. As I went to leave for school with yet another jumper tied around my head, my mum called me back.

 “You can’t wear that to school. Take it off”

 “I’ll take it off when I get there”

 “No you won’t, give it here”, and with that she pulled it off my head.

 Before she could start shouting at me I spluttered,

 “It…it..just fell out”

 “FELL OUT? WHEN!”

 “Over the weekend”

“WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! JUST FELL OUT? Right come on, I’ll book an appointment with the doctor; you might have a serious illness”.

 With that she went to the phone, dialed the number and began to book an appointment.

It took me until we pulled up outside the doctor’s surgery to admit what I had done. I had thought about trying to blag it, but I didn’t have the balls for that. I received a huge lecture about lying and disobeying my mum. I felt terrible.

A few years later I found out that she knew all along what I had done because, like my brother, she’d seen all the hair in the bin. She just wanted to see if I’d own up and how long I’d keep on wearing jumpers on my head.

Big Ginger Blanket

Craig had always been a bit simple. He was a good lad, lacking severely in common sense, but that’s why I liked him so much. Nights out were better when Craig was around.
I’d been seeing Natalie for a few weeks, things were ok; I think we both knew it was nothing serious. On the Friday night of this particular tale, I had a bit of a dilemma on my hands. Natalie wanted me to go out for drinks with her and then back to hers for a game of hide the sausage, but Craig had already asked me to go out on the lash with him. Not one for standing up my mates, especially after already committing myself, but not wanting to miss out on the chance of getting my willy wet, I decided to compromise. I asked Natalie to bring along a friend, and we’d all go out together.

At 7 o’clock, I went to Craig’s for a couple of beers before we went to the pub. As usual, Craig was in good spirits and looking forward to the night ahead.

“Who’s Natalie bringing out then?” Craig enquired.

“I’m not sure actually, I could ring her if you want?”

“Nah, no point, we’re meant to be meeting them soon. I’ll wait and see. I hope she’s fit”.

“Well I’ve met two of her mates and they’re both nice”, I said, lying.

We got to the pub and got a drink in each. The girls were running late (as usual) so we found a table and waited, passing comments on the various people coming in and out of the pub. By the time the girls eventually showed up, we were on our forth pint.

“Hi guys, sorry we’re late. This is my friend Sandra by the way”.

To say Craig was disappointed when he saw Sandra would be an understatement. He was gutted. She was, to put it nicely, hideous. She was very fat, with at least one band of blubber hanging over the top of her jeans. Her head was quite big, and red, and she had garish ginger hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed for a while. She reminded me of a ginger Grotbags. Her hair clashed quite spectacularly with her bright pink t-shirt.

“We’ll get the drinks in”, I said, pulling Craig up from his chair and to his feet.
At the bar, Craig was in a sombre mood.
“I was hoping to get a shag tonight”, he garbled, knocking back his drink.
“You still can, mate, Sandra’s probably up for it”, I teased.

“Fuck you”.

The night went well. We all sat and chatted and had a good laugh. Sandra, for all her shortcomings in the looks department, was good fun, and was drinking pints at an alarming speed. In between drinks, we downed shots and before long, we were all in a sorry state. Natalie suggested we carry on the session back at her place, so we left the pub and jumped in a taxi.
Back at hers, we moved onto vodka; Craig was having neat shots, whilst the rest of us mixed it with orange juice. I sensed Natalie was eager to get to bed, so we made our excuses. Sandra said that she was going to stay up for a while, whilst Craig didn’t really know what was going on, he seemed to be happy where he was, sprawled on a chair. Natalie tossed him a blanket and said that he could kip on her sofa, and then we went upstairs to her room.

I woke the next morning with my head pounding. Natalie was already up and dressed, and urging me to get up.
“Turn the fucking light off, Natalie. What time is it?”
“Nearly 10. Haven’t you got football today?”
She was right. I dragged myself out of the bed, slung my clothes on and staggered downstairs. Crag was awake, sat in the same chair, fully clothed. I didn’t think he’d got changed for bed and had just slept where he fell asleep.

“I was wondering when you’d be up, mate. Come on, let’s go”, he said as I walked into the front room.
“What did you get up to then?” I probed.
“Just ring a taxi, I’ll tell you on the way”.

Ten minutes later, we were climbing into a taxi. I’d said bye to Natalie, but there was no sign of Sandra, who had slept in the spare room. As soon as the taxi door closed, I asked Craig to spill the beans.

“Well”, he began. “You know I was fucking hammered, right? Well, I think I might have shagged Sandra last night”

“What do you mean, you think you shagged her. You either did or you didn’t?

“I can’t remember! I was that drunk. But I do know that I woke up this morning next to her and that she was naked”

“You must have shagged her then! Ha-ha! Nice one, Craigy!”

“It gets worse mate”

“Oh, yes, please go on”. I waited with great anticipation. What could top Craig shafting Sandra?

“Well this morning, I woke up and looked at her, and she was laying there snoring like a big fat pig. She looked horrible, but I was feeling a bit horny. So…so… I had a wank over her big ginger carpet”.

“HAA! And she didn’t mind?”

“Well, she was still asleep wasn’t she? So, she still doesn’t know”

“You dirty bastard” was the only response I could come up with; the image of a naked Sandra was now firmly imprinted in my mind, making my hangover a million times worse.

“Please don’t say anything to Natalie”, begged Craig.

I promised I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. I still haven’t to this day. I did however tell all the boys at football that afternoon, and it earned Craig a new nickname; The Phantom Spunker.