Since childhood, she has cut off men from her family: father, grandfather, sister’s husband, boyfriends, husband and even mother (who has a short haircut).

I am not a hairdresser. It all started with the fact that my mom came from the hairdresser and on the back of her head, instead of a smooth transition, there was a leash. Mother handed the chest, the scissors we stood at the stall and under her sensitive guidance I aligned. My dad saw it and so I became a family barber.

And if I liked this process before, now I try to get rid of it. I bought a machine and shaved my husband when he baked. Sometimes, without warning, the swocker comes and no matter if I am busy - you need to cut.

And one day my husband (I am at work) calls me and says that my dad came and my husband had to cut him for the first time.

“Well, like a haircut,” I asked.

“That’s not to ask anymore,” the husband replied.