Sixty dollar head

I woke up this morning with a sixty dollar head.
Which isn't surprising, because I went to bed with one last night.
In fact, since 4:30 yesterday afternoon -
everywhere I go, I go in style -
with my sixty dollar head.
Why do I have one? How can you get one?
Allow me to fill you all in...

I have been in need of a decent haircut for quite some time.
But salons and the hair-people in them fill me with such fear and
loathing that I have managed to ignore the hay bale on my head
for many weeks now. However, the situation atop my shoulders had
recently reached critical mass (probably exacerbated by my emergency
use of the heat gun because my daughter stole my hairdryer....),
and I absolutely HAD to get something done.
There is a new shop in town: Sugardaddy's.
It looks pretty cool - big comfy couch, nice paint - tasteful,
yet edgy decor. And the salon master has tattoos and piercings,
yet he is sort of soft and kindly and big-brotherish.
So - off we go: me, my self and Idon'twannago.
Events transpire smoothly, he snips and chats and
I wonder why I ever thought this was so awful.
Maybe it was the time a boy put gum in my hair in 4th grade and
the janitor had to hold me down and cut it out? Or the time I slammed
my own hair in my locked car door and had to flag down a stranger to
help get me free? Or probably the day my mother took me to her beauty
parlor, and sat me and my waist-length hair down in a chair. Right before
she removed my glasses, I saw my mother make a scissory motion up near
her ears; the hairdressing ensued and ...when I put my glasses back on,
I looked like a pearl onion.

But - I digress.

Sugardaddy finished his work - and I had to admit, it was nice.
I followed him to the front desk, got out my wallet
and thought I heard him say, "That will be sixty dollars."
I'm sure he heard the clank of my jaw hitting the floor,
because he gestured toward this cunningly hidden pamphlet
that explained his fees (on page THREE), and said again,
softly, "Sixty dollars - a check will be fine."
I was stunned.
Mainly because that's an assload of coin for a 21 minute haircut -
but also because (according to the secret after-the-cut pamphlet)
women's cuts are $60 but men's are only $25 and I know I had
no more than a man's ration of hair on my head to begin with.
And yet, I opened my wallet without a word and I paid my money
without a word and I walked out of there like I'd just spent an hour
with a Kreskin the amazing - bender of spoons.
Oh, the terrible power of scissors mixed with mirrors;
it trumps everything - every time.
So if you see me walkin' down the street, give me a shout out...
You'll recognize me - I'm the woman with the sixty dollar head.

bling bling.
bs