Not Like That Surely
I watch women leave with assorted bodies, bulky purses, proudly displaying their newly-done up rainbow hair, blue streak hair, purple yarn hair, six braid in a bush hair, beaded, feathered and flowered hair.
Everything goes here, and it makes me comfortable. Then I see a silly looking up-do with straggly ends floating across a face. My four-year-old grandson could have done this one in his sleep. I am incredulous as I watch the recipient leave happy.
A little guy is almost out of his chair, screaming and wailing “Let me out of here! You are hurting me! No! NO! I don’t like this! You are HURTING ME!” His screams are frightening now, I look up, ready to fight somebody. The hairdresser is having a tough time working around a grandma and a mama who are holding him in the chair by pinning arms and legs that are struggling as he screams.
When I got to my chair I noticed my stylist is cute, young, she will probably have some punky ideas. I like that! She washes me up, not finding a tick, which I think is a great start. As we talk she discovers I teach school. Her eyes bug out. “They let you teach with that color hair!” she spits out.
“I would like to see them try and stop me,” I fire back. I look in the mirror at my new Peter Pan haircut. I look like a boy, but at least most of the burgundy is still there. So much for generalizing how punky young can be.
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