Ever since I can remember, Tobyjoe has shaved his head. Usually, he waits until his hair grows really long and then he goes home in a fit and shaves it. Over the years, I have offered to pay and have paid for professional haircuts. Visiting the salon is often very entertaining.

“I want every hair cut in half. Pick up each hair and cut it in half. I want my hair to look like this, only 50% shorter. Get it?”

Usually, the hair stylist stares at him, waiting for the punch line. And I pity her. I really do. I can’t imagine how stressful that is, to hear a grown man ask that every hair on his head be cut in half.

One time, he instructed the woman to cut it all in half and then furthered his instruction.

“I want every hair cut in half. NO HIPSTER SHIT. Ok? Just cut each hair down the middle.”

“No hipster shit. I like that. OK. No hipster shit, it is.”

He left with a hipster haircut And then he shaved his head.

Then there was the time I spent 70 dollars and he left with the exact same hairstyle as the one he entered with. It was as if the Asian woman lifted each hair and pretended to cut, like they do to teeth during toothpaste commercials.

When we got home he shaved his head.

There was the time I tried to cut his hair in two, an impossible feat. That particular haircut took about 3.5 hours. We watched two movies. When I was “finished�? he looked in the mirror and thanked me. The following day, his coworkers lifted their eyebrows in horror.

“Dude, what the hell happen to your hair?”

“Michele cut it for me.”

“It shows. Are we not paying you enough?”

That night, he went home and shaved his head.

It’s nearing that time again. His hair is starting to brush his eyelashes and the back is approaching the collar of each shirt. It’s only a matter of days before he starts to threaten his own head and me with the clippers.

“Make me an appointment, then!”

Today, I was chatting with my coworkers about how much I love the Dyson and how funny it is that most of my family flat out refuses to buy me one because, well, buying someone a vacuum as a present is tacky. That’s probably true. Tobyjoe has said numerous times, “no way.” And most people I have mentioned that to agree with him. (I think I do, too.)

While I was expressing my undying lover for the Dyson vacuum cleaner, one of my coworkers publicly admitted to the fact that he found Mr. Dyson only one-step above that other guy who creates (and sells!) things that chop up onions and stuff. And although, I found his claim blasphemous, I tried to contain from retorting too harshly.

“Next thing you know, you’ll be comparing the almighty Dyson to the Flowbee! Mr. Dyson is an INVENTOR! AN IN-VENT-OR. He doesn’t waste time with petty 30-dollar choppers.”

“What’s a Flowbee?”

I defined the Flowbee and then I turned to Google. And then I learned that they are still being made and people are actually still buying them AND using them on their children’s’ heads in a pinch.

Tobyjoe and I have often joked about his need for a Flowbee. And while I realize buying your loved one a Flowbee doesn’t exactly scream, “You are the sunshine of my life.�? I think it’s time. And I’d say I’d get him naked, smear chocolate all over his body and then Flowbee him silly, but I’m a not sure haircut, nudity and chocolate go together all that well. I mean, imagine the mess.

But, if I had a Dyson…