My tufts

We have found ourselves having fun with hair. This was borne of necessity. We had both needed haircuts when the whole thing began, and it wasn’t long before we started playing barber.

We began with a scissors to get the hair out of our eyes. Then you slipped on my fringe. The lopsided cut made us laugh and laugh. I did the same to you and we could hardly breathe; it was the most hilarious thing.

That was us for a few days. If people noticed on the video calls, they didn’t say.

My hair was tickling my ears, itching to be cropped up a few notches. The scissors beckoned. You were happy to oblige and I returned the favour. Your hair that had seemed silky was like bristles cut short. I liked it.

The next day, there were fixes to be done. You have to see how it sits for a while before you can even it out.

At the same time that I was learning about your hair, I was learning about your body. There were things you liked that I hadn’t known about.

When you introduced clippers to the bedroom, I understood immediately. We said, let’s go slow. When you began to shear, I shivered all over.

Again, I returned the favour. We agreed it was the best we’d ever had.

We were hooked. However, it soon became apparent that we were working with a finite resource. We were grateful to everyone on the video calls for pointing this out.

So, we started rationing: starting at the crown with a tightly cropped tonsure and radiating outwards each night. Controlling ourselves, when we could.

My tufts

You are eyeing the patch left at the base of my skull. I know you want it tonight. You can’t have the tufts I’ve kept at the front; they are mine. I like it when you tickle them, though.