Hair Today

This morning I decided to get my hair cut for summer. Since I have changed my hair very little over the past decade, I opted to browse the web in search of the perfect hair style. Not too long, too short, too old or too young.

One site boasted: "Largest Online Collection of free hairstyles!" These hair styles are free, no doubt, because no one would pay for them. Many of them looked as if the women had hacked off their hair with a dull kitchen knife. Others appeared to have been shredded and dipped in vivid colors of children's paints. The longer I looked, the more appealing my eternally preppy bob seemed to be. I was ready for a change, however, so off I went to my friendly neighborhood hair salon.

I had been warned about the local salon by a neighbor who claims to have cried for a week after having her hair cut there, but it was sunny and I was feeling reckless. I cruised along, windows down, singing with Bob Seger, in that illusion of youth that spring often inspires. It doesn't get much better than that.

Is it just me, or does everyone feel somewhat vulnerable and trapped when that plastic cape snaps around their necks? Looking in the mirror, I saw only a disembodied head with a frightened face that looked vaguely familiar.

The hairdresser looked at me and burst out laughing.   I have that effect on people, sometimes. "You look terrified!" She said cheerfully, grabbing a hunk of my hair.  In the other hand, she wielded a wicked looking razor. I closed my eyes, but visions of shredded hair and The Chain Saw Massacre danced through my vision. "Ccccrrrrriiiiippp!" said the razor. "Crrrriiiipp, crrrriiiipp, crrrriiiipp....!"

Opening my eyes, I saw bunches of hair the size of tumbleweeds falling on the cape. The locks lying in piles on the floor looked as if someone had skinned a possum. Clearly, there was no going back now. The cheerful chopper was on a roll and unless I sat very still, my head would go next.

Should hairdressers gossip and laugh while handling a razor? Discretion being the better part of cowardice, I was not going to voice that observation. I like having two ears. I closed my eyes again.

Just about the time I thought I must be bald, the happy hairdresser stopped her slice and dice routine and deftly switched to blow dryer and brush.

"Your hair looks so stinkin' cute, I can't believe it!" She chirped, spinning the chair for me to face the mirror. Some people have such a way with words.

I blinked, then smiled at the short-haired stranger, who smiled back. No shredded wheat, no cowlicks, no jagged points or Day-glo colors. Two eyes, two ears... She was right.  It looked pretty stinkin' cute.