A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 4; see Day 3
[Poetic short story]
Her real name is Theresa and she hides what’s left of her hair under a turban. She sizes the group around her, trying to still her nerves. Maddie nods her head as a cue. She introduces herself, “Hello, my name is Shorned Locks. My desire to be festive got the better of me. It started three weeks ago and came to a head yesterday . . . which is why I’m here today.” She clears her throat for all to hear her sad monologue:
“On St. Patrick’s Day I dyed the ends of my hair green to be in the spirit of things. Alas, I botched it as the shade didn’t have the right sheen. Thus, I went to get my hair cut, which looked like a thatched hut. I had asked for layers to replace my blunt look. Instead, I resembled a beast from a wild nature book.
The following week I went to another stylist to lift me from my mood so bleak. She suggested a bob that would caress my cheeks. Instead, my hair bubbled around my face, like a helmet you would wear in outer space. After putting up with snickers and strange looks at my hair, I rejoiced when the weekend arrived so I could go for, I hoped, my last repair.
To stylist number three I went. They say third time is the charm. I closed my eyes to fantasize whilst she snipped and reshaped the mistake. When she told me to open my eyes, I expected a pleasant surprise. Woe it turned out to be. She gave me a pixie more appropriate for a tiny fairy. Literally. I had no hair left to brush. I – I . . .” She starts to choke and blinks back tears. “I screamed and shattered the mirror. Since then, I’ve been unwell. Yesterday at my follow-up visit, the doctor told me to come here for my sanity.”
Maddie waves her hand to those on her left to start the groans. Like a maestro, she has one and then two people join in the moans until everyone is groaning. She raises her hand to those with bass tones, then directs the sopranos to carry the “Ohnn.” After the group reaches a crescendo, Maddie drops her hand for them to let go. She takes out her bowls and thwacks them together. After a moment of silence, Theresa receives the usual compliments.
As the members bid one another, “No muss day,” someone yells, “Fire!”