Part 2
My husband’s hair does not grow out, it grows up.
Last week, I noticed that he had begun to sport a ‘fro. Not really a good look for him despite his hero worship of Jimi Hendrix.
Before I tell you the rest of the story, we have to go back a dozen years, to our first international assignment with P & G in Brussels.
First of all, Belgium is bilingual. In the North, they speak Flemish (which is really pretty much Dutch), and in the South, they speak French. We lived in the middle, and woe is Brad, we had to study both languages to communicate comfortably.
At the time, the French/Dutch language combo seemed fairly strenuous. If only we could have lived in France and learned French. Or Holland and learned Dutch. But no, P & G was in Brussels and we had to study both…
Now living in China, the idea of learning and living in any country where you can read the signs and use a dictionary would be a piece of gateau!
An aside…
Before I poke fun at Brad, I have to acknowledge that he is actually NOT a language retard. He learns quickly (I just learn a little more quickly), and he is brave enough to use what he knows. This does not mean, however, that he understands everything. He just rolls with it and keeps his sense of humor.
Shortly after arriving in Belgium, Brad needed a hair cut. I offered to go with him to…ummm…help...uhhh....navigate….the language barrier. Setting out on his own, he firmly and confidently told me he had it control.
Yes, indeed!
If shaving your head is the way to control your hair, Brad did have it completely under control!
When my husband returned home from his excursion, I was speechless. (Obviously so was Brad! He must not have known a singl word!) Somehow, my American executive had been transformed into an American soldier. He looked exactly like my brother’s 1978 GI Joe doll.\
The kind with the fuzzy head.
I never quite figured out how this happened—nor did Brad. The end result, though, was Brad buying a pair of hair clippers and occasionally shaving his own head. Hell, why pay for it when he could do it himself?
In this way, Brad has managed to avoid any more language snafus or afros. The clippers have been his style of choice now for a dozen years.
In Beijing, Brad has been shaving his head as well. Recently the clippers have sounded unwell: like a cat with a hairball. Twice Brad has had to disassemble and reassemble the clippers mid-shave. This is scary unless he is going for the Mohawk look, which P and G loves. His solution?
TAO BAO. Yes, China’s version of Ebay, in Chinese of course.
On Saturday he bravely purchased clippers using Google Translate.
On Sunday he bravely paid the bill at the non-ATM atm in our compound’s clubhouse.
On Monday, I bravely answered the door and signed for the package.
(Actually any day I answer the door is a brave day. You never know who is on the other side!)
Monday night, Brad bravely and enthusiastically opened the box.
Looks good!
The box reads:
CHAOBA
THE NEW KING OF CLIPPER SET FOR PROFESSIONAL
Ok, maybe not so good!
He plugs the clippers in.
Does not sound good.
Sounds like a lawn mower—an industrial lawn mower.
Brad examines his purchase.
Suddenly the razor blade disengages from the device and shoots across the room.
Really.
What the hell?
Like flies across the room!
Nearly takes out his eye.
Brad shrugs and unplugs the clippers.
He reattaches the very sharp blade.
He plugs them in again.
Still not sounding good.
Again with the lawn mower imitation
Again the razor blade disengages and shoots across the room.
Repeat several times.
It’s the Hair Clipper Massacre.
Finally silence.
I do not have the heart to actually follow up on the saga.
China gets the best of you sometime.
On Tuesday, I saw the clippers sitting on the staircase leading to the basement, where Brad has his Maker Desk. You know: where Brad MAKES things.
I can only imagine what Brad will produce using the CHAOBA KING OF CLIPPER SET.
It’s sure to be professional.
The culprit: made in China, of course!
