Moira wasn't the sort of person ever to really get her haircut, but her daughter was getting married in a fortnight and she wanted to look good for the photos to look back on over the years. Her hair had always been long, straight and glossy. Envious for anyone, particularly as she was nearing fifty. She realised that she needed to look more her age so she thought she would go in to get a trim.
As Moira neared the salon a young 20 something woman strolled past her with shoulder length blonde hair and a fitting blocked fringe. Her hair blew to the side as she twitches her neck and flicked her long white scarf over her right shoulder. "What a beautiful sight", Moira thought to herself. As she sat down awaiting to be called a receptionist told her to take her seat in the second chair and someone would attend to her soon. Wrapped in her big black coat she placed up on a nearby peg and took her seat. She looked at her reflection across from her and noticed her drab wrinkled skin and dark brown (nearing grey) greasy tendrils furling upon her forehead.
Disheartened by her appearance, she looks around the room noticing women with blonde hair and fringes. She sighs to herself and warily looks back at her reflection. "If only I had hair like that woman that went past me, then I'd look stunning and feel pretty. Perhaps then," she thought, "my husband will notice me and my skin won't look so drab either."
The hairdresser organises herself, introduces herself as Kate and asks Moira what haircut she would like today.
Moira looks in the mirror and discusses with Kate her dilemma; "lovely to meet you Kate, I'm Moira. I live just around the corner. You see, I'm not someone who frequently gets their hair done. As you can tell..."Moira suggests to her head and once again looking at her reflection feeling dismayed..."I was admiring that woman who left earlier, you know with the b-" Moira was cut off by the determined young hairdresser- "Oh yes, wonderful. Yes, yes I shall see what I can do." Moira a little confused asks the hairdresser Kate to check, "the short blonde hair and block fringe?" Kate smiles and nods and gets equipment ready for her.
"Wow" Moira reflected, "I'm going to look beautiful. I've never been blonde before."
An hour passes and Moira is content with the length that's been cut at the front of her hair. She is told to tilt her head forward, so she reads a magazine while she waits in patience. She has been taken to get her hair coloured and is about to get her big reveal! Two hours have passed from when she first came in. She looks up as it's being blown dry. She takes an inbreath. "Is th - th - that me?" She points at her reflection. Then hiccups into laughter. Kate looks to her colleague beside her who glares pointedly at Moira then back to her customer in a polite gestured expression while playing with her hair and showing in a mirror the back of her hair. Moira watching her looks at the woman who has been in for an appointment too and sees it's one of her friends, Grace. "Grace!" Moira exclaims. Grace looks around at her, puts her glasses on and in a shocked expression exclaims, "Mary? Is that you? I don't think that colour suits you dear." She then takes her glasses off and continues to face her mirror.
Disappointed with Grace's reaction, let alone she forgot Moira's name! She looked at her reflection then up to the hairdresser and asks her opinion. Kate purses her lips and says to her, "what can I do for you? Would you like me to keep it blonde or back to your natural colour?" Moira looks up and feeling content with her new hair style tells her how pretty she thinks it is and says she will pay for it now. In confusion, Kate kindly follows suit and allows Moira to pay, despite being half way through her blow drying.
Moira grabs her big black coat, pays quickly to get away from Grace and continues down the road with her head high. She quickly gets inside and her husband Jack comes in from behind and says "wow!" Smiling, Moira turns and sees his horror-stricken face. "Now I really like this style, it cost me a bomb. Please don't be like Grace and say I don't suit blonde. That would make me feel really sad, especially coming from you Jack." She removes her coat and Jack comes closer to her. "Honey, have you seen the back of your head?" Jack eluded, "Conveniently no I have not, I needed to get away from that loathsome woman, Grace."
"Well honey," Jack continued, "I think you should. Allow me," Jack brings a mirror as he turns her body towards the mirror in the living room. Taking a quick inbreath, Moira finally touches it and realises its spiked up and is very short. In anger, forgetting her coat, she rampages into the salon and demands for her money back. She looks directly at Kate, points and exclaims, "you! I asked for hair like that blonde woman who left and - " Kate points to her colleague who returned and recognises her as the woman who went past her earlier, - "this is Laura. Laura," Kate requested, "do you mind twirling slowly for us, so Moira here can appreciate your hair please?" Laura turned and as clear as day, there was the spiked short hair that was not at all obvious in the wind earlier in the afternoon.
Apologetic and flushed Moira took her leave and head facing down all the way home, she entered the house disgruntled.
Moira went straight to the sofa to lie down in self pity, holding her precious hair in a curled up position. Jack enters the room and places a soft brown blanket over her. He brings her a nice hot cup of tea. She sits up to enjoy with a heavy heart. She looks up at him and smiles at his loving gesture. She leans her head against his shoulder, he puts his arms around her shoulder and tells her, "it will grow back darling," she looks up questioningly at him, holding her gaze, unsure whether that's an insult or not. He continues gently, "you look beautiful to me no matter what sweetheart," she presses into him and sighs deeply with relief.
What a day she's had. "If only I had been content with my natural hair length and colour then this wouldn't have happened. I was only going to get a trim," she thought.
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