Getting A Haircut...Part III

...my eyes grew wide as I watched the scissors inching closer to my ear with each shake of her hand. Is she going to jab me with those things I wondered? (Nudge) What was that? (Shake) I knew what that was. But what about the nudge? (tremble) It seems that the stylist had a very large belly and kept bumping into me every time I started to worry about her unsteady hand. (Nudge) Where is she cutting now? (tremor) Is she near (nudge) my ear again? I didn't sign up for all of this. I didn't want to be asked a whole bunch of questions about my preferred shampoo fragrance or my personal life. I didn't want to worry about having my throat slit or my ear cut off because my hair stylist had some sort of malfunctioning muscle twitch that she couldn't control. (Bless her heart, I know she can't control it, but she might want to think about a different profession.) I didn't want to be belly-bucked around by anybody either. All I wanted was a haircut. After what seemed like hours of being jostled around, and me having laid my whole life story out to this poor shaking hair stylist, she placed her scissors on the counter, handed me the mirror and spun me around in the chair. "I think things went pretty well," she said. "I have a twitch that gets out of hand sometimes when I'm nervous, but, I didn't feel it at all today. You see, I just graduated from Cosmetology School and today is my first day here and you were my first customer. How'd I do?"