A Cut Above
The next day we headed over to Big Hair by Leslie, Gingham County’s finest beauty salon.
“Let the boredom begin,” I said as we went inside.
We were greeted by Leslie, the owner. “Bless your hearts! Pull up a chair. There’re hairs to be cut.”
“I’m not leaving until I look like the guy in this picture,” said Grampa.
“Sugar,” said Leslie, “I’m a stylist, not a miracle worker.”
“It’s a good thing you guys showed up,” Leslie said as she worked my scalp into a luxurious lather. “That fancy new beauty shop opened up across the street this morning and has stolen all of my business. If this keeps up, I’ll have to go back to my second job spinnin’ records and spittin’ phat lyrics on my beat box.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” said Grampa. “We would never get our beautiful do’s done anywhere else. Isn’t that right, Granny.... Granny?”
But Gramma was already walking toward Star Curls, mesmerized by its swirling lights and neon sign. It seemed like a lot of old ladies were headed over there.
They were greeted at the door by a seven-foot-tall, rather odd-looking woman. “Greetings, ladies. I am Jacqueline Greed, the most famous hair stylist in the universe—I mean, world. Please step into my beauty chamber for hair follicle modification.”
We tried to go in, too, but were stopped by the towering beautician.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” said Madam Greed. “Only grandmas are allowed in my beauty chamber.”
“That’s all right,” said Grampa nervously. “We already had our hair follicles modified, anyway. We’ll just wait out in the car.”
