Paul
It is a lot more sexual then my other stores.
Susan had always had a fascination with women getting their hair cut short.
It wasn’t something she discussed openly. At thirty-eight, she had learned to keep certain interests to herself, and her fascination with dramatic hair transformations was one of them.
She loved watching a stylist gather long hair between her fingers, position the scissors, and make that first decisive cut. There was something about the anticipation, the sound of the blades, and the sight of eight or ten inches of hair falling onto a salon cape that she found captivating.
For years, she’d watched haircut transformation videos, particularly those featuring women exchanging long hair for sharply angled bobs.
But she’d never dared to do it herself.
That was about to change.
Her longtime friend Diane, a forty-five-year-old hairstylist, had agreed to cut Susan’s hair the following afternoon.
Susan had requested a dramatic angled bob, with the back cut short above her collar and the front gradually becoming longer toward her chin.
She knew Diane would have to remove at least seven or eight inches.
And the thought had occupied her mind for days.
What Susan hadn’t anticipated was that an unusual discovery in her late Aunt Betty’s house would make the day before her haircut equally memorable.
The Discovery in the Linen Closet
It was shortly after one o’clock when Susan reached the upstairs linen closet.
She had been cleaning Betty’s house since morning, sorting through decades of accumulated belongings.
The large two-story house had been extensively remodeled in 2018. Betty had installed a new kitchen, modern bathrooms, and a central vacuum system with outlets in nearly every room.
The vacuum motor was located downstairs in the basement utility room, making the system remarkably quiet upstairs.
Susan had spent much of the morning using it.
Now she was removing blankets from the linen closet when she noticed a small cardboard box tucked behind several old towels.
The box was faded but surprisingly well preserved.
Across the front were the words:
FILTER QUEEN VIBRATOR
Beneath the name was a printed price of $14.95.
Susan stared.
“A vibrator?”
She laughed.
“What on earth is this, Betty?”
She opened the box.
Inside was a brown plastic attachment with a rounded massage head and a narrow fitting designed to connect to a vacuum-cleaner hose.
A folded instruction leaflet explained that the attachment operated using airflow from a Filter Queen vacuum cleaner.
Susan remembered the old Filter Queen machines.
Her grandmother had owned one, and it had sounded like a small airplane whenever it was running.
She examined the attachment.
“So you had to turn on an entire vacuum cleaner to make this thing work?”
The idea struck her as both ingenious and ridiculous.
She carried the box into Betty’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
The attachment had no electrical cord, no batteries, and no conventional motor.
Instead, the vacuum cleaner supplied the airflow that operated its internal vibrating mechanism.
Susan turned it over in her hands.
“Well, somebody certainly had an imagination.”
She took out her phone and searched for information about it.
At first, she found photographs of similar attachments advertised as household massagers.
They were intended for shoulders, backs, arms, and other areas where people wanted a massage.
Then she encountered discussions about the more private uses people had reportedly discovered for such devices.
Susan stopped scrolling.
“Oh, my goodness.”
She read another discussion.
Then another.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Betty!”
She looked at the attachment again.
Suddenly, the little brown box seemed much more interesting.
Susan had known her aunt as a proper, reserved woman who rarely discussed personal matters.
Yet here was a peculiar massage attachment that she’d carefully preserved for decades.
Had Betty purchased it for an aching back?
Had somebody given it to her?
Or had she discovered uses that she’d never mentioned to anyone?
Susan smiled.
“Well, Aunt Betty, I guess everybody has their secrets.”
An Interesting Coincidence
Susan glanced toward the bedroom doorway.
There, near the baseboard, was one of the modern central vacuum outlets.
She looked from the outlet to the old attachment.
Then back again.
“Now wouldn’t that be something?”
The original Filter Queen would have made an enormous amount of noise.
Betty’s modern central vacuum system, however, had its motor downstairs.
Susan could barely hear it running from the upstairs bedrooms.
She retrieved the vacuum hose and examined the old attachment’s fitting.
The connections weren’t compatible.
And the more she considered the idea, the less sensible it seemed.
The modern central vacuum was designed to generate powerful suction for household cleaning. The old plastic attachment was decades old, and there was no guarantee its mechanism remained safe or functional.
Susan decided against connecting them.
“I’m curious, Betty, but I’m not going to injure myself trying to figure out your old gadgets.”
She put the hose away.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop thinking about the discovery.
Then she remembered something.
Several months earlier, she’d purchased a modern rechargeable personal massager.
It was still in her overnight bag.
Susan retrieved it and placed it beside the antique Filter Queen attachment.
She examined the two devices.
One required an enormous household vacuum cleaner.
The other was compact, quiet, and equipped with its own controls.
Susan laughed.
“Seventy years of progress, right here on the dresser.”
She glanced at the clock.
It was only two-thirty.
Nobody was expected at the house until the following day.
For once, she had an entire afternoon to herself.
A Private Afternoon
Susan closed the bedroom door and drew the curtains.
She changed into a comfortable cotton robe and returned to the bed.
On the nightstand, she placed her Marlboro Lights, a lighter, and a glass ashtray she’d found in the kitchen.
She opened the bedroom window slightly before lighting a cigarette.
Then she leaned back against the pillows.
The room was quiet.
Outside, the November breeze moved through the bare branches of the trees.
Susan took a slow drag from her cigarette and looked toward the dresser.
The old Filter Queen attachment was still sitting beside its cardboard box.
She couldn’t help wondering about Betty.
Perhaps her aunt had once sat in this very bedroom, examining the same strange invention.
Perhaps she’d laughed at its unusual design.
Perhaps she’d simply used it for an ordinary shoulder massage.
There was no way to know.
Susan rested her cigarette in the ashtray and picked up her modern massager.
She switched it on.
A soft humming sound filled the room.
She examined the controls, changing the setting and noticing how little noise the device made.
“Well, that’s certainly quieter than a Filter Queen.”
She smiled and switched it off for a moment.
Then her phone caught her attention.
On the screen was the photograph she’d saved for tomorrow’s haircut.
A woman with a sharply angled bob.
The back was cut high above the collar, with short graduated layers following the shape of the head.
The sides descended toward the chin.
Susan studied the picture.
Tomorrow afternoon, Diane would be giving her that haircut.
She reached behind her head and gathered her long brown hair over one shoulder.
It extended well below her shoulders.
For nearly ten years, she’d worn it at roughly the same length.
Tomorrow, that would change.
Seven inches.
Possibly eight.
She imagined Diane standing behind the styling chair, lifting her hair away from her neck.
“You’re sure you want it this short, Susan?”
And Susan would answer:
“Absolutely.”
She imagined the scissors closing through the first thick section.
Snip. Snip.
Eight inches of brown hair dropping onto the black cape.
Susan smiled.
She had imagined that moment countless times.
The anticipation of the haircut was something she had difficulty explaining, even to herself.
She loved the idea of the transformation, the decision to give up something familiar, and the moment when there was no turning back.
She took another drag from her cigarette.
Then she placed it in the ashtray and picked up the massager again.
She switched it on, allowing the quiet hum to become part of the peaceful afternoon.
For a while, she simply enjoyed having no obligations and no interruptions.
Her thoughts wandered.
She imagined Diane fastening the cape around her neck.
She imagined the comb passing through her long hair.
She pictured the scissors removing the first section, then another, until the back of her head was covered in short graduated layers.
She could almost hear Diane teasing her.
“Well, Susan, you certainly won’t be putting this in a ponytail anymore.”
Susan laughed softly.
“No, I certainly won’t.”
She imagined reaching behind her head after the haircut and feeling the short hair against her fingertips.
No familiar length.
No heavy ponytail.
Just a neat, sharply angled bob.
She’d always been especially fascinated by the moment a woman first touched her newly shortened hair.
Tomorrow, she’d finally experience that herself.
Susan set the massager aside after spending some private time relaxing.
She extinguished her cigarette and settled back against the pillows.
Her cheeks were warm, and she felt pleasantly removed from the demands of the day.
She glanced toward the Filter Queen box.
“Betty, you certainly gave me an interesting afternoon.”
Then she picked up her phone and sent Diane a message.
Still on for two tomorrow?
Diane replied almost immediately.
Absolutely. Still planning on that big haircut?
Susan smiled.
Yes. Eight inches if that’s what it takes.
A moment later, Diane responded.
I never thought I’d see the day!
Susan laughed.
“Neither did I.”
The Back of the Parking Lot
The following afternoon, Susan arrived at Diane’s salon considerably earlier than necessary.
It was only 1:15.
Her appointment wasn’t until two.
Instead of driving directly to the spaces near the salon entrance, she turned toward the far end of the parking lot.
There was a quiet section beside a row of trees, well away from the busiest part of the shopping center.
Susan parked, switched off the engine, and looked around.
She had a clear view of the salon entrance, but nobody was parked immediately beside her.
She looked into the rearview mirror.
Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders.
“Forty-five minutes,” she whispered.
“In forty-five minutes, Diane’s going to start cutting all this off.”
She reached behind her head and gathered her hair into a ponytail.
The familiar weight rested in her hand.
She imagined what it would feel like when that weight was gone.
Then she opened her purse.
Inside were her Marlboro Lights, her phone, and the small modern massager she’d used the previous afternoon.
Susan smiled when she saw it.
“Well, there you are.”
She took it out and examined it for a moment.
The strange discovery in Betty’s house had made her think about how private interests could remain hidden for years.
And now she was sitting outside her best friend’s salon, preparing to do something she’d privately imagined countless times.
She placed the massager on the passenger seat and picked up her phone.
The photograph of the angled bob appeared on the screen.
Susan enlarged it.
The back was short enough to expose the nape, while the front sections curved neatly toward the chin.
She compared the picture with her reflection.
Her own hair was so much longer.
She turned her head to one side and imagined the diagonal line Diane would create.
Then she reached behind her neck.
“Eight inches,” she murmured.
She pictured herself sitting in Diane’s styling chair.
The cape would settle over her shoulders.
Diane would comb her long hair straight down.
Then the scissors would appear in the mirror.
Susan smiled at the thought.
She had spent years watching other women make that decision.
Today, she would be the one saying yes.
She picked up the massager again and switched it on.
The quiet hum was barely noticeable above the distant sounds of traffic.
She rested against the seat, letting the gentle vibration ease the tension in her shoulders as she studied the haircut photograph.
Her thoughts returned to Diane.
She imagined her friend lifting a section of hair and holding it between her fingers.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“Yes.”
“Eight inches?”
“Every bit of it.”
In her imagination, Diane smiled and closed the scissors.
The first long section fell.
Susan could almost picture it lying across the black cape.
She imagined looking down at the hair she’d worn for nearly ten years.
Then she pictured Diane moving to the next section.
And the next.
Until there was nothing left to gather into a ponytail.
She remained there for several minutes, alone with the quiet hum of the massager and the prospect of the transformation awaiting her.
Finally, she switched the device off and returned it to her purse.
She looked at the clock.
1:32.
Susan smiled.
“Well, I suppose I ought to get myself ready.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror and brushed her long hair neatly over her shoulders.
Then she started the car.
Rather than walking across the entire parking lot, she drove toward the salon and selected a space near the entrance.
She switched off the engine.
This time, she was ready to go inside.
One Last Marlboro Light
Susan stepped out of the car and reached into her purse.
She removed a Marlboro Light and lit it.
The November air was cool.
She leaned against her car and looked through the salon window.
Diane was finishing another customer’s haircut.
Susan could see the scissors moving.
The young woman in Diane’s chair had arrived with hair well past her shoulders. Now Diane was shaping it into a short, layered style, with the back cut above the collar.
Susan watched as another section fell onto the cape.
The woman smiled at her reflection.
Diane combed the hair forward, checked the length around the ears, and made several final cuts.
Susan took another drag from her cigarette.
“Everybody’s getting their hair cut today,” she murmured.
She watched Diane turn the chair so her customer could see the back.
The young woman reached behind her head, apparently delighted by the difference.
Susan smiled.
Soon it would be her turn.
She reached behind her own head and lifted her hair away from her collar.
She imagined how different it would feel in another hour.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Diane appeared.
I’m running right on time. Come in whenever you’re ready.
Susan smiled and typed:
I’m outside finishing a cigarette. Better get those scissors sharpened.
Diane replied:
Now you’re making me nervous!
Susan laughed.
She took another drag and looked at her reflection in the car window.
Her hair hung well below her shoulders.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” she whispered.
She finished her cigarette, disposed of it in the outdoor receptacle, and walked toward the salon entrance.
The Woman in the Barber Chair
Susan entered the salon and was greeted by the receptionist.
“Hi! Diane knows you’re here. She’s just finishing up.”
“That’s fine,” Susan answered. “I’m a little early.”
“Have a seat. She’ll be right with you.”
Susan selected a chair in the waiting area.
She had barely sat down when she noticed something happening at the barber station on the opposite side of the salon.
A young woman, perhaps twenty-five, was seated beneath a black barber cape.
Her hair was dark brown and fell several inches past her shoulders.
A female barber stood behind her holding a pair of electric clippers.
Susan watched with growing curiosity.
The barber removed the clipper guard and checked the cutting blade.
Then she looked at the woman in the chair.
“You’re absolutely certain you want the whole thing shaved?”
The woman smiled.
“Yes. All of it.”
“Right down to the scalp?”
“That’s what I came here for.”
Susan sat a little straighter.
She had seen plenty of dramatic haircut videos, but she’d never watched a woman have her entire head shaved in person.
The barber combed the woman’s long hair backward.
“All right. Tilt your head back for me.”
The young woman leaned her head against the chair, raising her chin toward the ceiling.
The barber switched on the clippers.
A steady buzzing filled the station.
Susan watched as the barber positioned the clippers at the center of the woman’s forehead.
Then, in one deliberate movement, she pushed them backward through the middle of the long hair.
A broad strip of hair disappeared.
The dark locks separated and fell toward the cape.
Susan stared.
The contrast was astonishing.
On either side of the newly shaved strip, the woman’s long hair still hung almost to her shoulders.
Down the middle, the scalp was covered only by the faintest dark stubble.
The barber switched the clippers off briefly.
“How does that feel?”
The woman laughed.
“Strange. Keep going.”
The clippers buzzed again.
The barber made another pass beside the first, widening the shaved area.
More long hair slid down the cape.
Susan watched every movement.
The barber worked from the front toward the crown, gradually removing the hair across the top of the woman’s head.
The young woman remained with her head tilted back.
By the time the barber finished the top, almost all the hair there was gone.
Only the long sections at the sides and back remained.
The barber stepped to the woman’s right.
“Now tilt your head toward your left shoulder.”
The woman obeyed.
The barber placed the clippers near the temple and moved them upward.
A thick section of brown hair fell.
Then another.
The barber worked carefully around the ear, folding it gently out of the way while removing the remaining hair.
Susan could see the newly exposed side of the woman’s head.
It was shaved nearly to the skin.
The barber made several overlapping passes until the right side was uniformly short.
Then she moved around the chair.
“Other side now. Tilt your head toward your right shoulder.”
The young woman tilted her head.
The clippers started again.
Susan watched as the remaining long hair on the left side was removed.
One section fell across the woman’s shoulder.
Another landed on the floor.
The barber worked around the second ear and up toward the crown.
Soon there was no long hair left on either side.
Only the back remained.
The barber stood directly behind the chair.
“Now put your chin down toward your chest.”
The woman lowered her head.
Her remaining long hair hung forward from the back of her scalp.
The barber placed the clippers at the nape and pushed upward.
A wide strip of hair came away.
Susan watched the barber make another pass.
And another.
The remaining long locks dropped onto the cape and floor.
Finally, the barber ran the clippers over the entire head again, checking for uneven patches and refining the close shave.
Then she switched them off.
“All finished.”
The young woman raised her head.
The barber handed her a mirror.
She looked at herself and began laughing.
“Oh, wow! I actually did it!”
She reached up and rubbed her freshly shaved head.
Susan smiled.
The woman looked completely different from the person who had sat down in the chair only minutes earlier.
The barber brushed the loose hair from her neck and removed the cape.
A considerable pile of long brown hair lay around the chair.
Susan glanced down at her own hair.
Eight inches seemed like a modest change compared with what she’d just witnessed.
She wondered what it would feel like to sit in that chair and have the clippers run straight down the center of her own head.
The thought was startling.
She had come for an angled bob, not a shaved head.
Still, she couldn’t deny how fascinating the transformation had been.
She looked toward the young woman, who was still smiling and rubbing her scalp.
“That was quite a haircut,” Susan said.
The woman laughed.
“I’ve been wanting to do it for years.”
Susan smiled.
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“Are you getting yours cut?”
“Yes. About eight inches.”
The young woman looked at Susan’s long brown hair.
“That’s a big change too.”
Susan nodded.
“It is for me.”
Just then, Diane appeared beside the waiting area.
“Susan!”
Susan turned.
Diane smiled.
“Ready?”
Susan stood up.
“More than ever.”
Diane glanced toward the barber station.
“Oh, you got to see the head shave.”
Susan laughed.
“I certainly did.”
“She’s been planning that for months.”
“Well, she certainly went through with it.”
Diane smiled.
“Now let’s see if you’re ready to go through with yours.”
Susan followed her friend toward the shampoo area.
The Confession
After shampooing Susan’s hair, Diane led her to the styling chair.
Susan sat down.
Diane shook out the black cape and fastened it around her neck.
The familiar sound of the snap closing made Susan smile.
Diane began combing through her damp hair.
“So what’s new with you?”
Susan laughed.
“Oh, Diane. You wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday.”
Diane looked at her reflection.
“Something good?”
“Something very interesting.”
“Well, tell me.”
Susan hesitated.
“Have you ever heard of a Filter Queen vacuum cleaner?”
Diane nodded.
“Of course. My mother had one.”
“Do you remember how loud they were?”
“Good grief, yes. You couldn’t hear yourself think.”
Susan laughed.
“Well, did you know they made a vibrator attachment for those things?”
Diane stopped combing.
“A what?”
“A vibrator.”
“For a vacuum cleaner?”
“Yes!”
Diane stared at her.
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I found one yesterday while cleaning Aunt Betty’s house.”
Susan described the little cardboard box, the brown plastic attachment, and the original $14.95 price.
Diane shook her head.
“I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Neither had I.”
“So what was it supposed to do?”
“It was a massage attachment. The vacuum cleaner’s airflow made it vibrate.”
Diane laughed.
“Imagine dragging a vacuum cleaner into your bedroom just to get a massage.”
“That’s exactly what I thought!”
Susan explained how Betty’s house had been remodeled with a modern central vacuum system.
“The motor is downstairs. You can barely hear it upstairs.”
Diane raised her eyebrows.
“So you found a vacuum-powered vibrator in a house with a central vacuum?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s quite a coincidence.”
Susan grinned.
“That’s not even the interesting part.”
Diane smiled.
“Oh?”
“I started researching the attachment online.”
“And?”
“Apparently, people have talked about women finding more personal uses for those old massage devices.”
Diane met Susan’s eyes in the mirror.
There was a moment of silence.
Then Diane smiled.
“Oh!”
Susan burst out laughing.
“Yes. Exactly.”
Diane shook her head.
“Well, that’s certainly something I never knew.”
“Neither did I.”
“So did you try the antique?”
“No. The fittings didn’t match, and I wasn’t about to connect it to a powerful modern vacuum system.”
“Good.”
“But it reminded me that I had a modern personal massager in my overnight bag.”
Diane grinned.
“Oh, Susan!”
“I know!”
“So what happened?”
Susan smiled at her reflection.
“Well, I decided to spend a little time relaxing.”
Diane laughed.
“Good for you.”
Susan hesitated.
“And there was something else.”
“What?”
“I kept thinking about this haircut.”
Diane looked surprised.
“This haircut?”
“Yes.”
“While you were having your private afternoon?”
Susan nodded.
Diane smiled.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
Susan looked down at the cape.
“I’ve always had a thing about dramatic haircuts.”
Diane raised her eyebrows.
“A thing?”
Susan laughed nervously.
“I love watching women get their long hair cut short. Especially angled bobs.”
Diane considered that.
“Well, I suppose everybody has something they find fascinating.”
“I’ve watched haircut videos for years.”
“And you’ve never told me?”
“I was embarrassed.”
Diane smiled.
“Susan, we’ve been friends for fifteen years. You can tell me things.”
Susan nodded.
“Well, I kept imagining you cutting eight inches off my hair.”
Diane lifted a thick section from the back of Susan’s head.
“Like this?”
Susan smiled.
“Exactly.”
Diane held the section between her fingers.
“You’re really ready to lose all this?”
“Yes.”
Susan hesitated again.
“Actually, Diane, there’s something else I should probably tell you.”
Diane looked at her reflection.
“What now?”
“I arrived here early today.”
“How early?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
Diane laughed.
“Forty-five minutes? Why didn’t you come inside?”
Susan smiled.
“I parked way at the back of the parking lot.”
“Doing what?”
“Thinking about this haircut.”
Diane shook her head.
“You really have been looking forward to it.”
“More than you know.”
Susan laughed nervously.
“I even had that little modern massager with me.”
Diane’s eyebrows rose.
“In your car?”
Susan nodded.
“Yes. I had it in my purse. I took it out, switched it on, and sat there imagining you cutting my hair.”
Diane smiled.
“Well, Susan, I certainly didn’t realize a haircut appointment could occupy so much of somebody’s imagination.”
Susan laughed.
“I told you. I’ve had this fascination for years.”
“And then you came inside and watched somebody get her entire head shaved.”
“Yes!”
Diane laughed.
“You’re having quite a day.”
Susan looked toward the other station.
“I couldn’t believe how she had her head tilted back while the barber ran those clippers right down the center. And then she tilted it from side to side. Finally, she put her chin down, and the rest of the hair came off.”
Diane nodded.
“That’s a pretty dramatic transformation.”
“It certainly was.”
“Are you thinking about changing your mind and having your head shaved?”
Susan laughed.
“Not today!”
Diane smiled.
“Good. Because I was looking forward to giving you this angled bob.”
Susan looked at the photograph on her phone one last time.
“So was I.”
Diane picked up her scissors.
“Then let’s make this a haircut you’ll remember.”
The First Eight Inches
Diane sectioned the back of Susan’s hair.
She combed the first thick section straight down.
Susan watched in the mirror.
“Last chance,” Diane said.
Susan smiled.
“Cut it.”
Diane positioned her scissors.
The blades closed.
Snip.
Then again.
Snip. Snip.
A long section of brown hair dropped onto the black cape.
Susan gasped.
“Oh, my goodness!”
Diane smiled.
“There’s your first eight inches.”
Susan stared at the hair lying across her lap.
She had imagined that moment for years.
Now it was happening.
“Keep going.”
Diane moved to the next section.
More hair fell.
Then another section.
Soon the long hair at the back of Susan’s head was gone.
Diane carefully graduated the remaining hair, shaping it close to the nape.
Susan felt cool air against her newly exposed neck.
She reached behind her head.
“Oh, Diane. It’s so short!”
Diane laughed.
“That’s what you wanted.”
“I know. I love it.”
Diane continued working, creating the sharp angle toward Susan’s chin.
As the scissors moved, Susan found herself smiling constantly.
Diane noticed.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Susan nodded.
“More than you know.”
Diane smiled.
“Well, I’m glad.”
When the cutting was finished, Diane blow-dried the hair with a round brush and carefully refined the shape.
Finally, she turned the chair toward the mirror.
“All right, Susan. Take a look.”
Susan stared at her reflection.
The back was short and neatly graduated, exposing her neck. The sides angled dramatically forward, ending just below her chin.
She turned her head from side to side.
Then she reached behind her head.
“Oh, Diane.”
“Do you like it?”
Susan smiled broadly.
“I absolutely love it.”
Diane handed her a mirror so she could see the back.
“Eight inches gone.”
Susan studied the short layers.
“I can’t believe I finally did it.”
Diane smiled.
“Well, you certainly surprised me today.”
Susan laughed.
“Between yesterday and today, I’ve had quite a week.”
Diane removed the cape.
The long brown hair slid onto the floor.
Susan watched it fall.
For a moment, she simply stood there, taking in the transformation.
Then Diane spoke.
“Susan, next time you come in, I want you to bring a picture of that Filter Queen attachment.”
Susan laughed.
“I’ll bring the original box.”
“And the instructions?”
“Those too.”
Diane smiled.
“I have to admit, I’m curious.”
Susan reached behind her head again.
“And maybe next time, we’ll go even shorter.”
Diane raised her eyebrows.
“Shorter than this?”
Susan smiled.
“Who knows?”
As she left the salon, the cool afternoon breeze brushed against her newly exposed neck.
Susan stopped beside her car and caught her reflection in the window.
She turned her head, admiring the sharp angle of her new haircut.
Then she smiled.
The old Filter Queen attachment had given her an unexpected glimpse into the private mysteries of another generation.
But the haircut had given her something she’d wanted for years.
And as she drove home, Susan found herself wondering what Diane would say if she ever told her just how much she’d anticipated those first eight inches falling to the floor.
