A New Perspective

This is my first published story and I hope it reads well and is, at the very least, something enjoyable. The story comes from a very real place emotionally, though not all of these events happened in the exact way described. I struggle to call this fiction, as it features too much of my real life and experience in it, but I do not want to mislead anyone into thinking this is strictly autobiographical. However this story should be classified, please leave your critiques, praise, or both in the comments. As I edit written content on occasion, it would be hypocritical for me not to welcome the same on my own work!

 

Where to start? Let’s cover the basics. I’m currently 59, a few months away from 60, which likely has led me to the point compelling me to share this writing, happily married for nearly 40 years, parent of three and blessed to soon be a grandmother. I’m a former ghost column editor, ghost by choice, for a now defunct local community interest magazine (remember those?), a few online publishers, and now assist a local young mother content creator, a term I didn’t even know until about two years ago, with her written content she publishes on cooking and household norms. Very fortunately, both my late father and husband worked jobs that allowed me to be a nearly full-time mother to my kids and indulge my love for reading and writing at my leisure. I do not pretend to be a career writer, journalist, columnist, or anything like that, rather just a woman who, shockingly, gets to use her undergraduate degree on occasion for something more than a line on her CV! Bored yet? As most applicable to this audience, I’ve had a hair fetish for as long as I can remember, though maybe ‘obsession’ is a better word, as it isn’t purely sexual.

 

Though it has changed greatly since I lived there, the town where I grew up was your typical small town, Midwestern area with a good amount of agro-adjacent industry, especially dairy, conservatism and patriotism, which instilled in me many values I still hold dearly, but did also certainly limit my worldview on some aspects of our American culture. I was your typical ‘good girl’ and proper young lady, especially under my mother’s very watchful eye, as I was the only girl among five boys! Mom was a homemaker out of necessity, as a family that size demands a full-time parent! As a result of my standing as the lone female offspring, as soon as I was old enough to take direction, I was helping mom in the kitchen and laundry room in the same way my brothers were expected to help our dad with his work both outside at his and his brother’s company.

 

My mother was not a woman who took a lot of guff, but nor was she harsh and overly critical. She did focus great attention on my appearance, but she scrutinized her own equally. Despite birthing six children, she never was bigger than a size 3, and only in the mornings while cooking would she be in relaxed garb of curlers and nightgown whilst preparing breakfast and lunches for school. Whenever we would get off the bus and walk home, she would be neatly dressed and perfectly coiffed. Her one indulgence in life when raising us was her hair, and by extension, mine.

 

In the nearly 50 years I knew my mother, there were probably only about three years in total in which her hair wasn’t permed, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t boast a huge variety of styles! She had feathered hair in the 70s, giant hair in the 80s, and a permed variation of the ‘Lady Diana’ which she wore more or less until the very end. However, I was a different story. I had long, LONG, wavy brunette hair for almost my entire childhood, only taking it up to my shoulders for an especially hot summer. Even through high school, and then into college, I was often the girl with the longest hair in class. My mother loved brushing it and I would join her at the salon for minor trims and heavenly shampoo sessions. I only experimented with a body wave perm twice, once for my wedding and once shortly after the birth of my second child, making the jump from wavy hair all the way to properly curly. I loved my long, wavy locks. It was often the first thing I used to describe myself when meeting someone for the first time.

 

And yet, in all my years of visiting the salons, I found myself hoping to witness a lady undergoing a dramatic transformation. The first experience I recall was that, as I waited for my mother’s appointment to be over, I watched a brunette in her late 20s begin her visit with hair nearly as long as my own and leave with a side swept, softly curled wedge that left me temporarily speechless. Part of why I recall it so vividly is that my shocked silence paradoxically led to talking nonstop with my mother about it on the way home, a nearly 30-minute trip! Finally, before she parked, she said “Lillian, I’m thrilled you enjoyed the spectacle, but please, I don’t want to hear about it anymore this afternoon. If you’re so interested in short hair, maybe you should try it for yourself.” The notion both thrilled and terrified me, and for decades thereafter, I envisioned myself having my long locks sheared away at the salon. Though I came close a few times, I never maintained the nerve and kept my long hair, only making a ‘chop’ shortly after my 40th birthday and keeping my hair mid-back from then on.

 

Now, here is where I talk about what has been my greatest struggle in life thus far: breast cancer. If ever there was a time for me to have it, though, I was blessed with at least that silver lining. Our oldest was in her final year of college and was just a few weeks into her Senior year, the middle boy was a Junior in high school and an excellent driver, and the youngest began her Freshman year with a cheerleading schedule aligning perfectly with her brother’s football practice, meaning I didn’t have to chauffeur! For the first time in my life, my kids were somewhat more self-sufficient than not, so my husband and I could focus on my health.

 

Now, when it comes to breast cancer, chemo, radiation and surgery (or some combination thereof) are your options. While my hair was not the driving factor, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t something weighing heavily on my mind. At my doctor’s recommendation, I opted for a double mastectomy, though I did not elect for reconstruction surgery. By my daughter’s graduation that spring, I was all healed up and ready to move forward. Though the recovery took a few years to fully be considered ‘done’, by the time our youngest went to college herself, I was ready for the next stage of my life. Enter menopause!

 

I promise, we’re getting to the hair portion of this story soon enough! I’m thankful that my husband is as patient a man as he is and that our kids were all out to the house, at least most of the time, as I was, by my own admission, a real bitch as I entered into this fun experience. I put on weight, and as my breasts were obviously long gone, I found myself thinking that I resembled a pear more and more with each day. My late mother’s svelte figure entered my mind as if to taunt and shame me. Even more troubling than my weight and hormonal fluctuations, though, was that my wavy hair lost its body practically overnight. I noticed some thinning at my temples and sides, but the texture I had been so proud of for so long up and vanished. To cope, reading, writing in a journal, cooking, and lots of walks around the neighborhood became my focus in lieu of direct parenting. Even after my husband graciously turned our eldest’s bedroom into a small office where I could read and journal in a dedicated space, doing so outside was most enjoyable and where I’d spend as much time as the weather permitted.

 

This past spring, my neighborhood was graced with a new mail carrier named Marianne. Mail was always a source of consternation, with frequent late deliveries, missing letters, things delivered to the wrong address at random, but all those things went away the instant she took over the route. Because of my love for frequently walking the dog, or just myself, through the neighborhood and camping out on the front porch, I would often see Marianne and soon we began chatting and we quickly became friendly. When walking, we’d often be heading along the same direction and usually I’d find myself having walked more than a few streets further than normal, just because of how naturally she and I conversed! I’ll get this out of the way first: Marianne is a lesbian. If her insanely short haircut, lack of makeup, social brashness, or her open references to her wife didn’t give it away, by her own admission, her affinity for dogs was (apparently, per her), a dead giveaway.

 

I will admit, though not openly or even privately homophobic, I didn’t make it a point to interact with the LGB Community very often, and where I grew up, the only time it was a topic of conversation was when it was on the TV. All this is to say, Marianne became my first true friend who happens to be a lesbian. Marianne is well into her 50s, around my age, but thanks to years of walking and carrying the mail, is in excellent shape. One day, earlier in the autumn, my husband was travelling and I had the house to myself. I was outside with the dog when I spotted Marianne. I smiled and began to walk towards her, when suddenly I stopped in horror. I had forgotten my prosthetics and was completely flat-chested, something I was, am, still very sensitive about. I knew I was blushing furiously and quickly turned back to head inside. However, Marianne was too close for me to ignore, and after she called my name twice, I reluctantly turned around. I crossed my arms over my flat chest and tried not to appear uncomfortable as she came up to me. As I was debating whether or not to reference my appearance, I noticed she was wearing a pin on her hat that said ‘cancer can go to hell’. While maybe not an approved part of her uniform, I smiled and complimented her on it.

 

She said “yeah, I used to have one that said Fuck Cancer, but that was deemed too much by some people who have no sense of humor.” She then followed up with, “Breast cancer, right?” I blushed a little more, nodding “What gave it away?”. She smiled wryly at my remark. I didn’t enjoy, and still don’t, talking about it. I then sighed, adding. “Yes, you’re right. Can I ask if you’ve had it or someone you know?” Marianne chuckled “Both. My mom died of lung cancer and I went through breast cancer myself. Twice. You don’t need to be ashamed, hon.” I gawked at her, “Twice!?” She chuckled again “Yeah, twice. Lucky me, right? Actually just had a checkup and I’m all clear. So, you mind if I ask what treatments you went with, ya know, aside from the obvious?”

 

Despite her straightforward and almost frank demeanor, I answered “Ah, just surgery. Double mastectomy. And to top it off, I’m starting to deal with more fun now that I’m ’of a certain age’.” She smirked, “I think that was the smart way to go. I did chemo and radiation both times, and I think I should have just given in and done the surgery. Mind if I take a seat?” I pulled her up a chair as we walked to my porch and then I quickly dashed inside to pour her a cool glass of water. She smiled and took it gratefully. “Admittedly, I didn’t want to give up my tits. My wife assured me that she’d find me just as gorgeous without them, but I couldn’t do it, so when the doc said it wasn’t necessary, well, I didn’t mull it over. Plus, I learned that I look damn good with a shaved head, which is why I’ve never grown it out beyond a flattop since!” She lifted her hat for good measure, and she indeed was sporting a grayish black flattop that would make any military serviceman blush.

 

 

I smiled, considering how much I should share. Given that she’d been the first person outside of my doctor’s office and family to see me flat-chested, and considering how candid she was with me, I decided that I would be equally frank with her. “I, ah, couldn’t stand the idea of losing my hair, so I went with the surgery as quickly as you went with the chemo!” She looked a bit shocked and said “Hell, really? Hair grows back, you know, even after cancer. Danni said it sometimes grows back curly for some gals. Danni also-“ she paused to look around, “look, not to get into it, but Danni thought I was hot stuff with a flattop or just straight up bald. It was the one good thing to come from the whole fuckin’ experience!” I smiled, feeling a bit uncomfortable, but also flattered that she was trusting me with this personal experience. Before I could fumble a response, she added “Really, Lil (the only person who calls me that), you’re really that attached to your hair? Say, you ever had short hair?”

 

My stomach fluttered a little. “Er, no. Never. Long, wavy hair was my defining feature until very recently.” I sighed, then lifted my hair a little and decided to be a bit vulnerable. As a quick aside, cancer survivors often have, or least I have and have encountered many like myself, a certain sense of camaraderie with each other that essentially eliminates your filter. “Menopause has made my hair gray and thin out a bit on the sides, and I’ve lost most of the waviness most surprisingly, but I just can’t bring myself to go short.” Marianne smiled “My wife would have a field day with you, girlfriend. Danni LOVES giving women shorter styles. She’s got short hair herself. I know, shocker, a lezbo with short hair! But seriously, Lil, if you’re ever looking to change it up, let me know. I’ve had short hair since community college, so shaving my head was barely that big a change for me, but it’s such a nice thing.” I giggled in an overly awkward fashion and said “Oh, I don’t know. My stylist said last week that we can always go the extensions route.”

 

Marianne rolled her eyes before standing up “Yuck. I’d rather have no hair than fake hair, but you do whatever makes you feel best, seriously. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I took the now empty glass from her and waved goodbye. I felt a bit awkward, like my reaction disappointed her. Her offer was incredibly sincere, and I had just shot her down! As I watched her walk down the street, that sense of excitement and mild arousal rushed through me at the idea of going short, maybe not as a short as Marianne, but short nonetheless. At the same time, the notion of being on display as I was sheared was almost repulsive,  or maybe embarrassing is more accurate, as I was picturing someone like myself excitedly watching the transformation. I felt a sudden pit in my stomach as if I was being hypocritical. Truly, even now, I don’t fully understand the myriad of emotions playing through my mind!

 

That night after dinner I called my husband. No matter where he was, for as many trips as he was on, we never failed to speak each night he was away. After the usual conversation, I cleared my throat and said “Honey, what would you think if I made a…change…with my hair?” There was a moment of silence before he replied “Uh, fine, I guess? I mean, I didn’t say something did I?” I smiled, “No, and actually this has nothing to do with you or anything you said. This would be for me.” Another moment of silence. “Isn’t…isn’t your hair always for you? There’s something weird about this.” I could hear him laugh through the phone “What aren’t you saying, darling?” He knows me too well. I took a deep breath “I think I might want to cut my hair…short.” It felt amazing to say it out loud, thrilling and exciting, like a burden had been lifted off my chest!

 

His reaction was not equal to my emotion. “Oh. Huh. Well, I guess it’s hard for me to picture, but I wouldn’t have a problem with it. Just, ah, you weren’t thinking of getting it done like my sister, right?” I wrinkled my nose. His sister has worn her hair like Kate Gosselin for well over a decade and my husband openly dislikes the style. “NO. Not like that, seriously not like that!” He made a sound of relief through the phone. “Okay, well, um, then I have no problem with it, not that you had to ask permission! Hey, now I have a question for you: this seems like something you’d ask the girls about. How come you didn’t call them?” I snorted, “Please, one is WAY too busy with work and her own husband to field a call like this and I’m not going to bother the other one at 7 o’clock at night when she’s in college with something like this. Plus, you’re my husband. You get to deal with the crap like this!” He laughed. “Point taken. Well, I’ll see you Tuesday night. I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.” I mirrored his response and hit ‘end’ on my phone. I forgot that he was going to be gone the entire weekend, too.

 

 

As I was washing up for bed, our dog already snoozing on the comforter, I brushed my hair while deep in thought. I set the brush down and held up my ends around my chin and my ears, trying to envision how I might look with short hair. I would put my hair up on occasion, but I didn’t like how I looked, thinking my head looked too long or something. I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, seeing how a pixie might frame my face. I looked, well, a bit older, but most of all, it just didn’t look like me. However, after I released my hair and it fell over my face, brushing it back didn’t give me my normal sense of validation from my locks. For the first time in my life, I felt somehow less committed to my tresses than I had before, as if I was looking at myself with my hair not as the primary factor. There was no sign, no affirming moment of enlightenment, but there was a small voice telling me to talk to Marianne tomorrow. Just talk, but I knew that it would result in action.

 

The following day was remarkably unproductive. I was glad to have finished my single, small editing article project the month before, as I surely would have missed a deadline given my thoughts were elsewhere. Marianne was always consistent in her timing: between 1 and 1:30 she’d be on my street. I was waiting outside at noon. Finally, as she approached the house, I shouted out “Hi Marianne!” She smiled, “Well, someone’s in a good mood.” I nodded, “Yep! Hey, about our conversation yesterday-“ Marianne cut me off, “Oh, listen, I didn’t mean to touch on something raw with you, Lil. You know how it is sometimes when you get to talking about it. You can go too far.” I shook my head, “No! Actually, I was honored to be that open with you about our cancer treatments. No, er, I was really talking about what you said about my hair. I…I might be open to trying something new, like you said.”

 

Marianne was rarely one who showed genuine surprise, so when she did, she let out a whoop of laughter. “You kiddin’ me? Well, alright then! Let me write down Danni’s shop address and number.” As she did, feeling a bit nervous as to what I just agreed to, I added, “Um, when would you say her quietest hours are? I, er, kind of don’t want to, er, be seen.” Marianne tore off a piece of her notepad and handed it to me, an eyebrow cocked. “What do you mean ‘seen’, Lil? You’re not going shopping for a vibrator. Or are ya afraid to be seen having a butch cut your hair?” My cheeks flushed. “I meant, I meant, uh, I…I mean I guess I’m nervous about being a spectacle as I’m given a new look.” I then added hastily “And I have no problem with having my hair done by a lesbian!” Marianne’s expression softened. “Oooh, I get it. For you, this is a private thing. Well, I guess I can understand. Huh. Tell you what. She always cuts my hair Sunday afternoons when the shop is closed. This way, because obviously she doesn’t charge me, I’m not taking the slot of some customer. I’ll talk to her. Tell you what, you make that bean dip you gave me around July 4th, I’ll tell her that you’ll be by then, too, just this once. But, I’m telling you, don’t give her any of that ‘just a trim’ bullshit, Lil! I’m telling her that you’re sitting in her chair for a BIG change!” I laughed shakily “Haha, I know, Marianne! So, er, what time? For the haircut, I mean?”

 

Marianne eyed me with a smirk, “Well what else would it be for? Like 2-2:15. She takes all of 15 minutes for me, maybe 20 if she is shaving, which I guess she will be, but I’d love it if you’d watch. Gives me and her a chance to talk with you before you start cryin’.” My face fell, and she laughed “Oh, lighten up, girlfriend! You are sweet enough that you’ll probably be a crier though. No worries. She sees it all the time for the first-timers, short hair virgins. She’ll fill you in on all the stuff she’s seen. Well, this is a helluva surprise, Lil! And don’t forget the dip!” Again, I made up some hasty goodbye, but my mind was racing. As it was Friday, in two days, I’d have a new look, one that might make me cry! When I got inside, my heart was pounding and I didn’t even realize how badly I was shaking until I poured myself some iced tea.

 

The rest of the day was a blur. That night, my husband called, though he sounded exhausted. “So, anything hair related, Lillian?” He had asked in a very formal, inquisitive manner. “No,” I lied, not sure if I should tell him, or make it a surprise. His response changed my mind. “Oh, alright then,” his voice laced with disappointment. “You were hoping I did?”, I prodded him. He responded immediately, “Well, honey, honestly, since we spoke last night, I’ve been picturing you with shorter hair all day, and I’m having a hard time with it, but, uh, um, I don’t know, I bet it would look great!” Now it was my turn to be surprised! “Really? I always thought you liked my long hair.” He replied “Not like, love, but I’d love you any which way.” His tone turned serious. “Look, not bring ‘it’ up, but remember when you were sobbing at the thought of maybe having to shave your head?” I nodded, feeling that familiar uncomfortable sensation percolate in my chest.

 

“Well, remember what I said? Bald or brunette, or anything, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me! I think you changing your look for you is great, and I’m excited to see it!” I smiled, “Calm down, Casanova, but really? You promise you won’t hate it or be mad?” He chuckled, “I promise. Look, it’s hair. I barely have any left, so I don’t feel like I have a lot to say over yours, so just get something you want and if you hate it, um, you can use one of my ball caps!” “Har har. But really, thanks. I wouldn’t do something like this without at least telling you about it first.” We chatted and agreed that he’d call me mid-day tomorrow instead of in the evening, as he’d be at the first big dinner for his team. Having his support eased my mind, but I was hoping he wasn’t lying: our love life hadn’t exactly been prolific since starting the change, and I didn’t need anything else working against me!

 

The following day was thankfully full of various to-dos. I did a bit of gardening, housework, grocery shopping, and finally cooked and froze a stew for later that week. My conversation with my husband was brief, and he only mentioned that he thought it was odd that I was having my hair done on a Sunday, as I did try to keep errands to a minimum that day. However, I explained that I was seeing a special stylist and left it at that. Much to my relief, sleep came easily to me though my mind began racing as soon as the alarm went off the next morning. After walking the dog and making myself an egg and toast for breakfast, I got ready for Church. Because it always took an entire morning getting everyone ready, the five of us would go to noon service so that any morning sibling-caused disasters could be resolved before going to see the Almighty. Though it interrupted the day, my husband and I still found ourselves going to this time because it reminded us of our kids, and even when they weren’t there, made them feel closer.

 

Though I’m sure I’d be overdressed for my appointment with Danni, I wore a pair of wide, beige summertime skirt, loafers, and a pastel paisley blouse with a modest neckline. I did accessorize a bit with teardrop earrings and a bangle bracelet! As I was getting the ‘girls’ situated, always a fun experience, I thought with a bit of fear that I’d be giving up my last overtly feminine feature by going short. Of course, now it sounds silly, but in that moment, I finally was able to admit to myself why the idea of short hair scared me so much: I was afraid of not seeing myself as a woman! Again, I am aware that this is an incredibly reductive argument I imposed on myself, and it was by calling myself out on the superficiality of this debate that I was now more confident in my decision! Being a woman isn’t just boobs and long hair, and it was dumb that I hamper my excitement by this self-imposed argument!

 

Church seemed to drag on, and by the time I left, it was already 1:30. Danni’s shop is located in a part of downtown I rarely frequent. It’s located next to a coffee spot that is good, but not $9 a cup good, a tattoo parlor, and boutique scent store that has somehow endured the pandemic and everything else! Out of habit, I fluffed my hair in my car mirror one last time, and I confess, I said my goodbyes to my hair! The cliche expression of saying that a girl’s hair is her security blanket is very true for me. Danni’s shop has a neon green and pink, instead of blue and red, barber pole sign outside, and a large pride flag covering most of the window. My husband wouldn’t be thrilled with that, but as he wasn’t there, I walked inside just fine, or would have had the door not been locked!

 

After smacking my forehead on the door, I gripped the handle so as not to lose my balance, and then promptly almost fell forward as the door was hurriedly unlocked! Truly, smooth. “Oh, shit, are you okay!?” Said a sharp voice. As my visioned cleared, I was greeted by the sight of a concerned looking, taller, solidly built woman wearing an interesting outfit to say the least. Her toned arms were covered in tattoos that were shown off with a white polo that, though buttoned up to the top, was so tight across her ample bust that ‘modest’ would be the last word I’d have used to describe it. She wore a pair of light, acid washed jeans with a studded black belt, a pair of skull adorned Converse shoes, hot pink cat eye glasses that matched her nails, at least four piercings in each ear, but it was her hair that of course drew my gaze first. Her sides and back were as bald and smooth as could be, but from her occipital bone up to her fringe was a tall, very thick, expertly coiffed fauxhawk that was a deep purple color with blonde and blue tips near the front. Whatever I was expecting of Danni, this was not it!

 

“Holy shit, Lil, you alright?” called Marianne, who as my vision cleared, I could see was seated in a chair, shaving cream covering half her head below a freshly trimmed flattop. “Er, yes, sorry. Well, could not have embarrassed myself more, right?” Danni patted my arm and said “You could have fallen on your ass or face planted in my shop, so don’t sweat it, sweetheart. I’m Danni, nice to meet you! My better half has told me all about you. Please, take a seat and talk with us!” Feeling my cheeks flush, I followed Danni over to her station, one of two. “You just come from church or something?” Asked Danni, picking up her razor. “Lil is a good, God fearing, Republican housewife, Danni. Of course she came from church!” I turned positively crimson! Thinking of the pride flag outside, I wondered if I was about to be thrown out!

 

Danni gave a heart laugh. “Oh good! I’m not the only red-blooded one here anymore! I’m a damn unicorn myself, politically, among all our gay friends. Seriously, relax, sweetheart. The fact that you’re here and not protesting my business, and that Marianne has spoken so highly of you is practically all I need to know about you! Welcome to my shop.” I shook her hand in earnest this time and felt very welcomed indeed. I then smacked my palm against my forehead, saying “The dip! I’ll be right back!” Marianne called after me as she cackled “The door won’t be locked this time!”

 

A moment later, I came back in with a bag of Fritos and the bean dip that Marianne so wanted (don’t worry, it had been chilled with ice blocks!). “Ooooh, YOU’RE the lady who makes that! Well, that does it, your cut is on the house, sweetheart! Mari and I damn near ate the whole container that you gave her last month! This stuff is da BOMB!” Blushing, I set the container on the table containing the oddest selection of magazines I’d ever seen, namely assorted women’s magazines and more than one gun publication. Danni caught my puzzled expression and said “Yeah, I brought those in myself just to piss people off. My shop, my rules. Seriously, can you write down the ingredients to that dip while I finish up? There’s a pen and paper by the register.” Smiling, as it is gratifying to have your cooking complimented, I wrote down the steps.

 

“So, Lil, tell Danni about yourself so the three of us can gab once you’re on the hot seat.” For a woman having a straight razor masterfully dragged across the sides of her head, Marianne was remarkably nonchalant! I went through the highlights of me and spent some more time on the breast cancer topic, as I knew that was where Marianne and I had some commonality, and as it turned out, with Danni, too. “Yeah, my sister had it pretty bad. She went the route you did, but did radiation therapy, too. Finances took a real hit, too. Husband took on a second gig for a while.” I nodded, “My husband’s insurance is great, but we were shocked at the cost.” Danni murmured something that I didn’t catch, but Marianne spoke up “that’s enough of that crappy subject. So, Lil, does my sexy look tempt you?”

 

Admittedly, not really, but it looked amazing on Marianne. Danni was patting a bit more pomade into her wife’s perfectly level, half inch tall flattop. “Mm, maybe. WOW, Danni, the first time I saw Marianne without her hat, I gasped, but now that I’ve seen you freshen it up, er, it’s an amazing cut!” Both women beamed and Marianne, inspecting her reflection and rubbing her freshly shaved skin, said “You do always do such a great job on me, pookie. Now, c’mon, I’m starving!” Danni laughed, “Lil, you don’t mind if we snack a bit before I do ya? I swear I’ll brush my teeth so I want be breathing rancid breath your way!” I giggled as I shook my head. Danni whipped the cape off Marianne’s cape and for the first time, I saw her in more flattering clothes.

 

Like her wife, Marianne was wearing a polo, though one shaped a bit better and in a soft pink color that went nicely with her white jeans. Marianne refastened a pair of large, dangling earrings in her ears before smoothing her lap and exiting the chair. I blinked, and realized that she was wearing makeup, too. Her striking haircut has distracted me from the rest of her visage that I had failed to notice before. I blinked as I realized I’d been staring at her quite blatantly. “Something up?”, asked Danni, leaning in for a kiss from Marianne. Marianne returned the kiss and smiled at me, nodding with a knowing expression. “Lil’s never seen me out of uniform. C’mere girlfriend! She gets a handshake, but I get a hug!” Laughing, I gave Marianne a warm embrace before she looked me in the eye and said “I’m SO glad you’re here! You’re going to love having short hair. Danni? So you have some drinks?”

 

The three of us lounged on the couch and enjoying our snack and some coffee. Danni, despite her outward appearance, was very much a standard, dedicated small business owner sick of red tape, entitled customers, and walking a fine line between being welcoming and running a, to use her phrase “no bullshit business”. After I borrowed some mouthwash for myself, it was time for the big change, the reason I was here. It wasn’t the coffee that was causing me to practically vibrate with excitement! Danni said after clapping her hands together “OKAY! We deciding what you want before or after I wash your hair? I can work with either, but if you need some guidance, I’d rather wash you out first so I can see what I’m working with.” I wrung my hands apprehensively and replied “Um, let’s wash my hair first. I…don’t really know what I want.” Marianne nudged me and pointed both fingers at her hair “Flattop!!!” She was relentless! Danni took my hand and sat me down in the chair her wife had vacated. It was my first time since I was a teenager sitting in a chair as upholstered and comfortable as this classic barbershop furniture. “This chair is so comfy!” I said as a black cape was tightly snapped around my neck. Danni nodded, “Yeah, this is a genuine piece of craftsmanship! Both chairs are from the 20s and were going to be taken to a dump, but I salvaged them, had them restored, and now here they stand! Cost me an arm and a leg, but they’ll outlive all of us! Plus, it adds to the whole blended salon/barbershop hybrid setup.”

 

Allow me a chance to briefly describe Danni’s shop. Over the years, I’ve been inside numerous salons, a few unisex salons, and have taken my son to the barbershop on many occasions, but this place is truly unique. Danni decorated the register desk in heavily modified Halloween decorations (pink skeletons, Elvira pinups, assorted witches, and most prominently, the iconic poster of the We Can Do It! Rosie the Riveter, though her arms were heavily tattooed in a similar way as Danni’s. Both an American and Pride flag hung over the large mirror that dominated the wall in front of both styling chairs. The floor was a polished black and white tile and a few small, white shelving units contained hair care products of various name branded products which I was accustomed to seeing in my regular salon. A table with both a tea kettle and coffee maker, though the kettle was off, and large stacks of Styrofoam cups awaited use. There was a typical black hooded dryer on the wall adjacent to a black porcelain shampoo basin which I would soon be utilizing. There was a small hallway in the back left where I would later learn is a portrait of a very young Dannie with a huge perm at her first job at a salon opposite the restroom. The other stylist, Cherie, who I would later meet, had pictures galore of her and her dogs. What free space there was on the walls was covered with assorted decorations purposefully feminine and outdated from salons or on the opposite side of the spectrum, overtly masculine and typically seen in a barbershop. It was truly a paradoxical arrangement that, while chaotic, boasted a unique charm that I found welcoming and humorous.

 

Back to my visit, shortly after sitting down, I had to get out of the chair to have my hair expertly shampooed by Danni. The shampoo basin was hooked up directly into the wall, so she had to lean over me like a dental hygienist. I did feel a tad awkward as her bust was mere inches from my face, but when I closed my eyes, I received as nice a shampooing as I could hope for! I dropped my shoulders and Danni laughed, “Oooh, I recognize that sign! Are ya stressed, sweetheart?” Keeping my eyes closed, I smiled and said in a small voice “Er, yeah, yes! This is a big first for me, and you haven’t even started cutting my hair yet!” Danni turned the water off, wrapped a towel over my hair and sat me up, saying “Hey, I get it. Marianne said that, too, about you. I’m genuinely shocked you’ve never had short hair. You have lovely texture and your hair is in very nice shape, so you’ve got some options. Let’s get you back in my chair so Marianne and I can go through some choices for ya.” Buoyed by my hair’s condition, I eagerly followed Danni back to the chair. Marianne had dragged the stool from reception over so that she could sit and watch her wife work and me be radically changed. “I so rarely get to watch you do your thing, honey.” Danni grinned, “Yeah, I do like it, too. Sorry, Lil, don’t mean to talk around you! Okay, so, never had short hair, never had short hair. Hmph. Well, let’s go over a few things.” She towel dried my hair and began brushing it all back and off my face. After a few minutes, she turned me to face the mirror and I was greeted with the sight of all my hair pulled back as tightly as possible. Even in the privacy of my own home, I never became accustomed to this look.

 

Danni put one hand over the top of my head, saying “You really have a nice head shape, very diamond-like. You could totally wear a buzzcut.” I evidently had enough spit in my mouth to start choking in surprise as soon as she said this. She offered me a sip of water and after collecting myself, watery eyed and red-faced, I said “Um, I don’t think so.” Danni smirked and Marianne looked a tad disappointed. “Well, you never know. You’ve never felt the clippers on your head before. I have a feeling you’ll like it. So, what then, like a crop? A pixie?” She picked up her phone and started scrolling. I shifted as I studied myself, and I felt compelled to say “I, er, I don’t want anything that emphasizes my forehead. I always soften it whenever I can.” Danni let my hair go and leaned towards the mirror. “Mmm, yeah, I can see that.” I was a little embarrassed she agreed so quickly, but she added “It’s not like gigantic or anything, but if you’re self-conscious about it, I can work with that. Anything else you’re a bit uneasy about?” I nodded, “I feel like I’m thinning on my sides. Did you see that?” Danni nodded, “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I should mention it or not, but just a bit. I was the same way before I shaved it all off, so I feel ya. Let’s see then, I could do something like this.” She held her phone up to me and showed me, to my surprise, a fairly nondescript pixie with side swept bangs and tapered sides. I smiled, “Yes, I…I like that.” Danni smirked, “But I detect a note of hesitation?” I shrugged. On one hand, it was surreal that I was having this conversation at all, as this would be a radically different look, but on the other hand, I was secretly hoping for something more exciting, somewhere in between having my head entirely buzzed and a pedestrian pixie. Marianne had walked over and frowned at the picture, “Oh, c’mon, you can do better than that, Lil! This is too safe!” Danni nodded, “You know, she’s right, Lil. I know you’re not on our ‘team’, but really, if you HAD to pick a short style, any style, surely there’s been SOMEthing you’ve seen at least once in your life that’s interested you.” Marianne playfully nudged me, “Yeah, just say it, don’t think it, girlfriend!”

 

“A blonde bowlcut,” I said flatly. I shocked myself with the words, they just fell out, and yet they were true. I looked down at my lap and felt the blood rush to my ears. “What did you-” began Marianne, but Danni cut her off. “Oh, I heard what you said, sweetheart. Wow. Really, huh? A bowlcut?” I smiled, embarrassed. “Yeah, I just, I don’t know. I know it’s, like, an awful cut, but. Er, I don’t know. I already said that, sorry.” Danni patted my head, “That much awkwardness means you MUST be telling the truth. Also, you’re talking to two women, one with a flattop, the other a purple mohawk. You really think a bowlcut holds a candle to either of ’em? Actually, I’ve been doing a couple of bowls a month, though you’d be the first straight woman in a good long while with one. Shit. Yeah, huh, yeah, I think that could work for you, Lil.” I looked up and caught a practically beaming Marianne giving me the thumbs up as I shifted my eyes to meet Danni’s. “Really? And, ah, you think I could have some blonde put in, too?” Danni sucked in her teeth. “Now THAT, I’m a bit less certain of, sweetheart. You’re at like a 4 for darkness, maybe even a 3. I can if you like 2 or MAYBE 3 shades, but even then, well, no. Your hair appears pretty healthy! Wherever you go does your colors nicely, and honestly, I’m jealous, I didn’t see that much gray, except near your temples, and those, heh, those wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” My heart was beating at rates normally reserved for only amorous activities and I failed to keep my voice even as I asked “So, haha, so you can give me that look? I mean, you think I’m not crazy?” Danni grinned, “Well, I wouldn’t say THAT, but hell yeah I can do that for ya! Wow, you’re going to look SO different, sweetheart.”

 

“I bet you’ll look WAY hotter, too, Lil. My wife’s gonna knock your socks off!” Marianne gushed. I smiled as I looked at her through the mirror. She sounded genuinely excited and having her approval added that much more confidence to my decision that I was rushing into. Danni told me to lift my chin up and as I did so, she pinned my hair on top of my head before she attached a strip of white barber’s tape around my neck. I’d never had that before, and the slightly scratchy, thin paper felt odd. Danni chuckled as she unclipped my locks, “God, I can see your goosebumps on your neck, Lil! So, just like a standard bowlcut, huh? Why a bowlcut, before we get started?” I smiled, “It must have been the late 80s. I was engaged, but not married yet. I was getting a trim and this gorgeous woman, she could have been a model…she wore this…striking bowlcut with short sides and it just worked for her! I’d only seen kids with the style, but when I saw her, it left an impression. Er, obviously! Because of my wavy hair, I never thought I could have that sort of style, but I desperately wanted to try it for such a long time.”  Danni began running a large comb through my hair nodding, “Oh, so you want something more retro, huh? Like with layering and heavier shaping?” My eyes betrayed my excitement and I added “Er, yeah, yes, please. But, not as heavy on the sides.” Danni continued combing, now starting to pile hair on top of my head, “So, not tickling your ears or getting in your face?” In what would be an arguably damning misunderstanding, I said confidently “Definitely not! I want the cut to last, please. A real bowlcut is what I want.” Danni’s eyes flashed her own delight. “A gal after my own heart! You’ve got it. A real bowl, huh. I’ll remove most of this bulk first and then we can do the highlights. A full color job is not going to give you the ‘retro’ vibe you want. Am I using that right? ‘Vibe’?” I smiled, “My kids use it all the time and I think so.” We joked about the absurdity of modern slang, admitted our generation’s slang was equally as nonsensical, and then the cutting began.

 

Danni sectioned all of the hair nearly two inches above the top of my ears and used a large claw clip to secure my soon-to-be-severed locks. She used a tail comb to trace an even part around my head, dragging out a section and adding it to the mass on top if it fell below the line. Naively, I thought that this had to do with dying my hair, as I only received highlights once before up to that point. The next thing Danni pulled out corrected me. “These won’t hurt, but I don’t want you moving around at all, either, Lil, okay?” She held the impossibly large clippers in front of my nose. I opened my mouth, but the next thing I felt was her steady grip on top of my head as the clippers were run up my nape. No ‘last chance to back out’, no ‘here we go’, nothing to mark the momentous occasion other than the act itself that she was removing so much of what I considered an integral part of my identity. Enough writings on this website have described the sensation of clippers on your neck and nape, and they are incredibly accurate. I felt my chest seize slightly as the warm, vibrating instrument pressed onto my skin in quick, even motions. I could feel the difference immediately in how heavy my head was as more and more hair fell to the ground. I couldn’t help but tear up as she moved to the sides, carefully folding my ears down and running them up my sides, sideburns, going over each area multiple times. My watery eyes had a few tears eek out and run down my cheeks as my lip quivered. I could tell Danni noticed, but she maintained her pace and after ensuring everything below the parting was reduced to dark stubble, she switched the clippers off. My ears, now tomato red, were ringing from the constant noise. I was dumbfounded at what I saw in the mirror.

 

It looked as if someone had taken an eraser to my head or a poorly cropped picture of wherein not all of the image had come through. “Pretty wild, huh? Go on, touch it for me, sweetheart!” gushed Danni, clearly relishing my shock. The feeling that my shaking fingers was as thrilling as it was terrifying. She had taken my hair down to virtually the skin, leaving behind swaths of gray, sandpaper-like skin I could hardly believe encompassed the lower half of my head! “This feels so…weird! Like 5 o’clock shadow or something. God, it feels like my husband’s face!” Danni chuckled “I can’t say I’m overly familiar with how a shaved face feels on a man, but it’s nice, huh? I’m going to shave it for you, and I’m warnin’ you, if you ever go fully blonde, you’re going to have to commit to shaving it constantly, sweetheart. With your highlights, the grow-out won’t be so bad.” As I continued rubbing my nape I turned to her, confused. “I’m getting highlights? I mean, I’m prepared to commit to a new shade. I mean, I’ve already gone this far!” Danni laughed, gently taking my hand off my nape, “Yeah, I mentioned that a few minutes ago, highlights will be better. They’ll give you that more ‘retro’ chic and I’m not wanting you to force yourself into, what did you just say? Committing? Yeah, I don’t want to lock you into keeping the bowl if you hate it, ‘cuz if you did, you’d be growing out a two-tone bowl, and that’ll be a pain in the ass, sweetheart. Plus, I’m gonna be butching you up quite a bit, Lil, and I want the focus more on the style than your color!” She and Marianne laughed, I smiled, but my rush of excitement mixed with a bit of apprehension as I looked at the hair on the ground and pondered what I agreed to in allowing her to ‘butch up’ my hair… Marianne saw my trepidation and said “Oh, don’t go getting cold feet now, hon! You’re going to wish you’d done this YEARS ago.” Danni patted me on the shoulder, nodding, “She’s really right, you know. It’s cliche as hell that both of us wear short hair, but it is SO addicting. You’ll see!”

 

As if that put a definitive end to my fears, Danni unclipped my still damp hair, casting a near-perfect illusion that I’d had nothing done to my style. Running a brush through my hair again, she then took out a pair of shears and began cutting the length at chin level. I closed my eyes as she leaned in front of my face as she finished up, the rhythmic ‘snip’, ‘snip’, ‘snip’ and corresponding rustle of hair sliding off my cape sending me almost into hypnosis. When she was done, she swiveled the chair towards the mirror and crossed her arms over her chest smiling “You know, if I cleaned this up, you’d look damn good with a chin-length bob, too. Maybe this’ll be what you grow into by late next year! You know, once you start letting it grow out.” While I did like the chic, albeit choppy, short bob on me, I turned to Danni and said “Uh, Danni? I’m getting the sense you think I’m not going to like my bowlcut very much.” Danni, who was getting the highlighting equipment out of the cupboards, replied “Eh, I wouldn’t say that. I THINK that YOU think you’re gonna like it, but I’m preparing for when you might not. Hell, I could be wrong, but the bowl’s a unique style. Most gals who get it are one-and-done. I’m not going easy on you, either. This is going to be the real-deal bowlcut you want. I get the sense that this is one of those styles you’ve just GOT to see yourself with. I get it. You just might not like it is all, and I’d be lying if I didn’t think there’s a strong chance of that happenin’ for you.” My insides churned again as she mixed up the bleach in a plastic bowl littered with the universal symbol for toxic waste. It seemed appropriate!

 

The conversation turned to Marianne, my, and Danni’s sister on the Big C as portions of my hair were yanked through the highlighting cap with the infamous hooked tool that looks more at home in a dental office than a salon (or barbershop!). They were both genuinely, but respectfully, curious about my use of prosthetic breasts rather than my opting for reconstructive surgery. I bemoaned the implications of the surgery and Marianne bemoaned the tolls of her treatment, but we were able to also laugh about the dumb things, like the nurses who have NO bedside manner, or comparing the food at the hospitals where we stayed. It made the time go by very quickly and eventually, I was met with the ridiculous sight of various sections of my hair sticking out with bleach and foils applied. I appreciated the dual layers of protection! Marianne snapped a picture of me and Danni; I purposefully rolled my eyes for the shot. It was a genuinely meaningful conversation, and in that moment, no matter how my hair turned out, I would have enjoyed the experience with them both. My chair was lowered and I walked through the remains of my hair on my way to the dryer where I was to cook. I asked for my purse and while not very exciting compared to what you might expect, I decided to just surf my phone instead of focusing on my transformation. Thankfully, the heat was low enough that I was comfortable the entire time! While some might consider it poor form that Danni only checked a few of my foils twice, I like to think it was a testament to her skill that she need not have interrupted the dryer time frequently. When the time came, I slipped my phone back in my purse which was tucked by the styling chair once again.

 

My hair was rinsed of the bleach with lukewarm water, a nice feeling after the dryer, before removing my foils. The cap was starting to feel tight, and this was thankfully the only moment of discomfort during the entire makeover. “I always forget how many towels doing a bleach and dye job takes!” chuckled Danni as she gently pressed the towel over the treated sections. Danni knows how to work efficiently, even during a ‘pro bono’ session like mine, and had mixed the toner during my trip under the dryer. As she was applying it, it occurred to me that she hadn’t asked me what shade of highlights I wanted, nor had I even thought to ask. Danni, and Marianne, too, seemed sincerely invested in this being a wonderful change for me, taking into account my feelings and doing her best to assuage my fears. She exuded the personality of someone I could trust and I decided, therefore, that I didn’t care what color she had chosen for my highlights! I still closed my eyes as her bust nearly grazed my face, though, as she applied the toner. As she explained, it saved everyone time if I just stayed in the sink as the toner did its thing. Thankfully, toner sets at room temperature after about 10 minutes, and so 10 minutes later, I was finally released from the cap and treated to another relaxing shampoo and conditioning. It was a bit bizarre to feel the warm water and shampoo on so much of my scalp, but I enjoyed it immensely and found myself crossing my legs as her nails would brush over the shaved areas especially. “Oh, yeah, this turned out GREAT! You’ll really be able to tell once it dries, which won’t take very long as you’ll find out!” I mumbled something positive as she sat me back up and put a towel around my shoulders.

 

Back in the chair, Danni used the towel to scrunch sections dry, not allowing me to see myself until she was done. Marianne could see, though, and she was grinning. “Wow, you really did go retro, Danni! Not subtle at ALL!” Danni betrayed a giggle full of mirth. “Well no shit! When was anything ‘retro’ subtle with hair? Okay, Lil, you’ve been patient enough. Take a look!” She turned me again to face the mirror and removed the towel. I moved my head back in shock and partially opened my mouth as whatever I was going to say died in my throat. Youthful honey-blonde streaks, no, not just streaks, chunks. She had given me chunky highlights! “Uh..huh-uh…wow! I…um…God…wow. I…it’s certainly a big change!” I blinked, feeling some tears bubble up, but more from the emotion rather than the result itself. Danni flicked a few locks with her fingers as she nodded, “Mm-hmm. And they’ll lighten up even more, like I was saying. Trust me, they’ll really be something once I cut all this length off.” My eyes darted between my reflection and Danni as I tried to picture how the highlights could be any more extreme than they already were. Danni ran a fresh comb through my hair before inserting a few clips to section it out, brushing a large swath over my eyes and then pinning it back against the top of my head. “Now comes fun part! You’ll be showing off those earrings now, believe me.”

 

Again without much ceremony, Danni got started severing more of my locks. She started on my left side and in short order, my ear was indeed liberated from any hair obscuring it. Danni started high, about an inch above the top of my ears, shorter than I was expecting and shorter than I wanted, but I buried my unease, continuing to trust her vision. The soft ‘plops’ of hair hitting my cape and the ground continued as she worked her way around my head. Her shears felt very high up on the back and I made a guttural noise that I tried to pass off as clearing my throat as she continued her shearing. “Just calm down, Lil. You have a really nice head shape. It’s a real shame you’ve been hiding it all this time!” Danni’s compliment was echoed by Marianne, “You do, honey. You’re going to be touching yourself all the time when she’s done with you.” I blushed and smiled, looking down at the pile of hair in my lap. “That’s NOT what I meant, shit!” laughed Marianne as Danni started to buckle over in a fit of laughter. “I meant your nape! Gaaah!” Danni collected herself, resuming her task, “Hey, personally, I’ve always found something a little erotic about the short haircut, so ya never know!” I merely laughed in response, but boy did I emphatically agree!

 

I glimpsed myself in the mirror before Danni stepped in front of me to begin my bangs. The bowl shape was stark and inarguable, and even in the short time since she had begun shaping, my hair was already dry enough so that I could see her statement on my highlights’ lightness were correct. I could barely process that it was me! However, before I could delve into an identity crisis, Danni chided “Ah, ah, no peeking!”, prodding my shoulder. “I want there to be a big reveal! I made the mistake of having this one lady see herself halfway through the buzzcut I was given’ her, and she fell to pieces before I could finish.” I tried to envision the scene. “So, what happened?” Danni chuckled, “Well, it’s not like I was gonna let her leave with half her damn head shaved, ah, like not in a stylish way, so I played therapist for 15 minutes and got her to calm down enough to let me finish.” I was barely able to ask if she liked it before my last vestige of long hair was brushed in over my eyes and mouth. “Uh, no, no she didn’t, which was a real shame. She wanted to impress this girl, which is not a bad reason to do something like that, but I don’t know if it worked out or not. I saw her like a year later with a rough bob and she pretended not to see me. BUT, she did tip me, so I have no grudge with her!” She then looked at me. “That won’t happen to you, though. Marianne thought for sure you’d have cried WAY more than you have!” I giggled, “And I thought that I’d cried a lot!”

 

Danni pressed the shears against forehead, deftly severing the last of anything considered ‘long’ for my tresses. She refined the shape by lifting the newly created fringe with two of her fingers and masterfully shaping the ends with her tools. I kept my eyes and mouth shut as tiny hairs rained down over my cheeks and nose. My excitement and nerves for seeing myself were reaching a level almost unbearable, and it was only going to get worse! Danni started pinning sections of my shortened locks up and said “I want you to have this be a real ‘wash-and-wear’ look you can care for yourself, given you’re such a short hair novice. I’ll still give you a good styling today, though, trust me! I’m gonna have some FUN with this!” I smiled, “I’m scared to ask what that means for me!” Marianne chuckled, “Oh, trust me, Danni’s just doin’ her part to make this the most memorable haircut ever for you, girlfriend. Oooh, shave’s next, right, honey?” An excite glint was impossible to miss in Danni’s eyes. “Yeah, baby! Shave, then final styling. I want you to FEEL this, Lil. I’ve got a steady hand, but you really can’t move for me now, ’kay?” I disobeyed her instruction and nodded.

 

She let the shampooing sink run for a few seconds to get the water nice and warm, then gave me the most pleasurable sensation up to that point as she placed a warm, damp cloth over my back and sides. I know I moaned because Marianne said “Damn lucky your husband’s not here to witness THAT, huh?” I went as red as my warmed neck was as Danni snapped “MARI!” Marianne brushed it off before dissolving into a laugh. “Sorry, sorry! Couldn’t resist!” I betrayed a laugh, too, and Danni joined it. Truth be told, I was a bit underwhelmed when Danni then took out a can of Nivea shaving gel, shook the can, sprayed a good amount into her palm and cracked a package of disposable razors. “Trust me, these get the job done, Lil. This is much cleaner for everyone, if a bit more wasteful. Now, seriously, don’t move.” Having part of my head shaved was as different from shaving my legs or arms as I could imagine. I kept my eyes closed, not from discomfort, but from the alien sensation. Danni made firm, controlled strokes along my sides first, rinsing off the razor after every other pull. For as exciting as the clippers had been, the feel of the razor being scraped down my nape was somehow anticlimactic, especially after some of the stories I’ve read here! Still, it was not unpleasant, though Marianne seemed a tad disappointed I was not having as pronounced a reaction as she may have hoped.

 

“There, just need to wipe you off, Lil. I don’t expect ya to do this yourself, in fact, I don’t even want your husband doing this, either. Fair warning, this part is gonna sting.” Now I closed my eyes in mild discomfort as she spritzed my hair with a very neutral-scented aftershave, which did indeed announce its application with a sting. My eyes fluttered opened and Marianne was beaming. Danni tapped my shoulder and said “Go on, sweetheart, touch it. I want YOU to be the first one to feel it!” Tentatively, I raised both my hands to explore my now naked scalp. This elicited the reaction Marianne was deprived of before. “Holy SHIT!” I shouted, my fingertips dancing across Danni’s handiwork. I burst into laughter, almost unable to believe what I was feeling. “Surreal, huh? Just wait ‘til you see it. It’s super pale, by the way, just so you’ll be prepared. Don’t touch it too much, though. This is all newly exposed skin, remember. Okay, okay, hands back under the cape, missy. Even I’m getting impatient to get done, now!”

 

“She looks SOOO good, honey,” cooed Marianne, now walking towards her wife. Danni smiled, her sincerity undeniable as she replied “It’s nice to hear you say that, Mari. I don’t know why I was so hesitant about it before, Lil. This is gonna look HAWT. Hopefully you can handle it!” I found myself pressing my knees together very tightly as I returned my hands to my lap. I found myself thankful that I would have the house to myself when I got home. My hair was evidently short enough that Danni had to use her spray bottle again before trimming the ends and making the errant adjustment to a layer here and there. “You’re really gonna look, and I know this word is overused as hell, powerful, Lil. ‘Kay, so I’m going to use on you what I use on me: styling glaze. You can get it literally everywhere, just make sure your hair’s a little wet when you use it, then style. Basically, you’re just gonna use a comb to run it through everything, lift the roots with your round brush and run it down, curl the ends towards you and blast with low heat.” I nodded, “Okay, I get it. Can…can I watch?” Danni poked me playfully, “Haha, no way, hon!! Grand reveal, remember? Sit tight, you’re nearly there.”

 

My legs were aching with how tightly they were pressed together, and I had clasped my hands together so tightly in my lap I was certain I’d break skin. Whether I would love or hate my new style, I was just ready to be done. Like the aftershave, the styling glaze didn’t have much of a scent, or at least not one I could detect as she used a comb to evenly distribute it through my hair. Danni used a round brush barely wider than a curling iron on my hair, and I could feel her perform the styling in the exact manner described. The noise of the hairdryer made any distracting conversation impossible, but thankfully, Danni worked with efficient, fluid movements, creating a rhythm as she went along, performing the same action around the entire perimeter of my head. Feeling the heat of the dryer go over my ears, unshielded by any trace of hair, was by the far the strangest feeling, well, at least for a few minutes. My ears were still ringing for a few seconds after Danni finally, finally turned off her hairdryer. She covered my eyes with a hand before dousing my hair with a thick, even coating of citrus-scented spray. For such a short hairstyle, she used much more than I was expecting! I could feel traces of the spray sweep over my shaved skin, something I’d have to be mindful of from there on out! At last, she stopped spraying and began dusting my face with a soft brush, clearing away any errant hairs from her prolific trimming. Marianne spoke first, her tone a bit surprised. “Shit, Danni, you didn’t hold back on her, did ya? Lil, girlfriend, damn. Honey, you did a helluva job on her!” So much swearing! Danni giggle, tracing a finger along my nape with marked satisfaction. “Well, she asked for a ‘real’ bowlcut, and that’s what I gave her. Lil, you’ve been a trooper! Now remember, you asked for it!”

 

With that ominous reminder, she finally turned my chair to face the mirror. The first thing I remember thinking was “This can’t be me, can it?” However, the lips matched. The giant, shocked eyes matched. The mole by the left ear matched. The ears, the ears that now stood out proudly like door mirrors. Yep, that was me! I must have made some sort of noise, because Danni patted my shoulders reassuringly and said “Just take it in, sweetheart.” Danni hadn’t gone easy on me by any means. As the small mirror she was now holding behind my head showed, I had no hair on my nape, around my ears, above my ears, just pale, smooth skin. As my eyes crept upwards, they took in the bowlcut I had so enthusiastically asked her for. It was almost comically uniform and wide, as if she’d placed an upturned small mixing bowl on top of my head, except the mixing bowl was a mostly consistent brunette with dozens of streaks of thin, blond hair, evoking a pinstripe suit a gangster might wear in a noir film. The carefully curled-under ends that softened the look slightly rested more than an inch above the tops of my ears and high above my raised eyebrows. I shook my head, not in denial, but to see how it moved. To my delight, and relieving some of the tension, I giggled as I watched my hair flutter slightly before returning to its perfect shape. The amount of product gluing it together prevented more dynamic movement, but the spectacle was wonderful.

 

“I…love it. Really, really. I LOVE IT!” I started to yell unintentionally as my heightened emotions began pumping through me. I shakily flicked my bangs with my fingernails, amazed at how short they were. A few tears fell, but happy tears, tears of fulfillment, as it were. I laughed some more as my hands explored the bare nape and sides, noting with delight the bizarre sensation of the sudden change in feel from smooth skin to a shelf of hair jutting out above my ears. At last, this strange, infamous hairstyle I’d yearned to experience sat atop my head, a truly ‘crowning’ achievement! Danni gently lowered me from my euphoric state as she patted my shoulder and then ran her comb through my hair again. “I’m so, so happy ya like it, Lil! I’ll be honest, I don’t know how this even possible, but it works well for you…I think. I can tell you’re enjoying it, too, you sly lady!” I went a bit pink, but my embarrassment wasn’t done yet! Marianne, without invitation, patted the bare part of my nape and said “Oh, yeah, I think she’s one of ‘those’ gals, Danni. I TOLD ya short hair is so great for a reason, girlfriend! It’s intoxicating, and you’ll never, ever, want to go back. God, you look like you belong in a Sears catalogue!”

 

Danni playfully slapped her wife’s arm with a chiding “Oh, stop! Be nice! Well, I guess you are kinda right, though. You don’t exactly look ‘chic’, Lil, but you do look stylist, put your earrings in so you can see the full effect.” She handed me the earrings and I fastened them back in, immediately seeing what she meant. The teardrop earrings I’d chosen softened the look greatly, reducing the undeniably ‘butch’ harshness of the incredibly stark shape she’d given me. “You should see it with hoops or chandeliers. Short hair means literally anything you put in your ears becomes a statement. Hmm, you could do with a few more piercings, though, Lil. You’re not hiding your head anymore, so you’ve got to bling that ‘dome up!” I laughed again “Oh, yeah, because I just SCREAM ‘bling’, don’t I? Seriously, I just love it! I still can’t believe I did this! My husband’s in for a surprise when he sees me. My daughters will think I’ve gone nuts!” Danni removed the tape from my neck and then my cape, shaking out more tiny hairs onto the floor. I pressed my skirt down before leaving the chair. Again, ‘surreal’ was the only word to use as I waded through my dead tresses. I was shaky as I walked towards the mirror, still not having my fill of my new visage. With my rather conservative outfit, my bowlcut looked more severe than trendy, but I didn’t care. This was my most satisfying hair appointment ever, and to me, it was perfect.

 

I insisted on paying for the coloring and bleaching, though Danni pointblank refused a tip, though she did ask “So, this mean you’re now to be a regular customer for me? Even if you aren’t, this cut needs to be trimmed at least every four weeks, shaved every two if you’re gonna keep it looking clean.” I nodded, “I don’t think there’s another place I’d rather go, Danni! Yes, please.” Danni put my name in her client-managing software and confirmed my email, marking the least remarkable part of the whole experience. Marianne chided me as she brought me purse, “You know, you’ll be chasing this thrill from now on, hon. It’s only a matter of time before you’ll listen to me and get a flattop!” Danni shot her a look and said sharply, “Hey, there’ll be none of that! I am NOT about to encourage her to shave off al this hard work I just did! Actually, Lil, I’m gonna schedule you in for a time when I know I’m busy, and I want the ladies to see this look. This was too fun; I need to get more ladies to get a bowl!” I laughed, “Seriously? God, I think most people are going to stare and think I look ridiculous!” Danni nodded, “Oh, definitely. It IS ridiculous. Like, probably the most ridiculous look you could’ve asked for, Lil, but that’s the point. Oh, and wear something a little less ‘secretary’ when you come next time, ‘kay? Wear something a bit more comfortable, and you can really get into it.” There was a little twinkle in her eye, and I knew the three of us had an understanding.

 

I teared up again when Marianne and Danni hugged me, and I left the shop feeling lighter than I had in years. As I drove home, I was honked at twice because I was checking my reflection at a red light. That night, I went to bed after a long, enjoyable bath, a luxury I rarely treat myself to, my womanhood satisfied and my inner desires silent for maybe the first time ever. A new perspective opened a whole new chapter for my most defining feature, and I have been all the richer for it.