I now have short hair.  But it didn’t happen at all like I imagined.  In a moment of weakness after coming home from the hospital, Jennifer offered to cut my hair.  I agreed.  Wrong decision.  "I’ll only take a little bit off," she said.  She lied.  This was the result:

Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife, she’s just not a barber.

So after a trip to the emergency room, sorry, the hair-stylist, I
have a new due.  The ladies at the salon got a good laugh.  But all is
well.