Ooofha. Hairdo. And 60 seconds to writer about it. It's a OneWord challenge. And this pops out:
Tired of my station in life, I skipped my barber’s chair and went into a fancy salon and asked for a new hairdo.
The lady studied me intently as I sank into her chair. She puts the points of a pair of scissors to her chin and tips her head. A multitude of piercings jangle through her hair, which is streaked in mauve and spiked like the fins of a Cadillac.
She smiles and I begin to think that this isn’t such a good idea.
But the shampoo and conditioner feels good – who knew conditioning promotes stronger follicles? – and by the time she gets to work, I’m feeling relaxed.
In minutes, she’s done.
My hair looks like it did before I walked in, just shorter.
The bill is $68.
Two weeks later, I’m sitting at my barber’s place, thumbing through a girlie magazine and waiting my turn.
“Why so glum?” he asks, tucking tissue into my collar.
“I cheated on you.”
“I forgive you,” he says, the buzz of clippers drowning out his disappointment.