And I don’t mean from Aussie when talking about my haircut from down under. No, not Australia – read further and I will give you the gruesome details. Shudder …

It all started innocently enough. Yes, driving along one morning this week I happened to glance into the review mirror and noticed I could use a trim. Isn’t that what the mirror is for – checking out hair and makeup?

As I sat at the traffic light contemplating the snip-snip needed and the fact that my time was limited, I noticed a salon sitting prettily on the corner. I had never visited it but hey, there it was just seconds away and I needed a haircut, I thought.

Thinking always gets me in trouble.

I turned the wheel and slid my SUV into a handy parking space; actually there was plenty of parking. That should have been a sign. As you know, the best places are where there is no parking available. That includes restaurants, shopping or doctor’s offices and especially beauty salons.

Not disturbed, I walked into the empty shop. I do mean empty, no receptionist, no stylists – nothing. However the lights were on and I could smell hairspray so I knew someone had to be there. I hesitantly rapped on the counter and after a few minutes a pleasant young lady appeared. She greeted me with a big, bright smile plastered across her face. I felt really special.

She directed me to her lonely chair, sitting in the corner. The floor was spick & span, no evidence of a recent haircut. The little salon chair seemed as happy to see me as the young lady. I mean I think it almost smiled at me. Someone to “work-on” had arrived.

I felt almost as if I had arrived in The Twilight Zone.

It was just me, the young stylist and cute chair. But I was happy. Most of us gals enjoy a salon, no matter where it is located. But not from down under, I was soon to learn.

I immediately grabbed my purse and pulled out a photo I had copied from an online site and pointed to the type style I wanted. She said, “Uh-huh.” Or someone answered, maybe it was the chair? I admit I was a bit animated, as I described the puffs and swishes that I envisioned with my new haircut. I could see myself looking just like the 30 year old model in the photo. Salons are magical places.

So the big, black cape was wrapped around me, like there would be no escape. Then the chair swung around and I could not see the mirror. That was very nerve-wracking. And the process began. Snip, snip, snip – then came more, snip, snip, snip and more and more. Good grief!

I noticed the photo of my dream haircut had been thrown to the side. Could that mean I would not become 30 years old again via a magical haircut? I was beginning to feel the magic leaving me. But I still had hope.

After, it seemed, two hours the stylist swung the chair around once again to face the mirror. Who was that old woman sitting there with the short, short hair? Surely not me! Eeeeeeek!

Once again a brilliant smile appeared upon the young stylist’s face. “How do you like it?”

I gasped to regain my breath. “Oh, my, well it’s short.”

I paid and ran for the door. Once in the car, I pulled out my brush to try to salvage any tiny bit of style or glamour left on my head. There was none. Sigh.

I drove away from the empty parking lot with an even emptier scalp. When I arrived home Hubs asked. “What happened to you? Are you sick?”

As you know, Hubs is not the most observant of individuals, especially when it comes to charm and good looks. He figured that I looked bad so I must be sick.

So now I shall stay secluded until a great deal of growth takes place. I hope it is quick because I have a lot to do.

The haircut from down under was a lesson learned but at least I made a new friend. The chair was really cute.

Anne B McKee is a Mississippi historian, writer and storyteller. She is listed on the Mississippi Humanities Speakers Bureau and Mississippi Arts Commission’s Performing Artist and Teaching Artist Rosters. See her web site: www.annemckeestoryteller.com