The woman at SuperCuts looked down doubtfully at Dianne’s head.  She smacked a piece of gum between her teeth and sighed.

“You want me to shave it all off?” she asked.

“Yes.  All of it.”

“Oh, honey, if it’s about the dye job, don’t worry.  It’ll grow out.”

Dianne clenched her teeth.

“Look, my boss won’t let me go to work with green hair, so I’m going to work with no hair.  I want it gone.  All of it.”

The blonde hair-dresser shook her head sadly and brought out the scissors.

“I’m gonna have to cut it first, then I’ll shave it.  You sure you wanna do this?”

Dianne nodded.  She held her breath as the scissors neared her luscious neon green hair.  Then she jerked forward and held up her hand.

“Wait!  I don’t want my hair to go to waste.  Can I donate it somewhere?  Locks of Love, or something like that?”

The hairdresser frowned.

“I don’t think they want hair that’s been dyed,” she said.

Dianne sighed, then nodded.

“Okay.  Just cut it then.”

            In less than two minutes the scissors had cut off the heavy green weight that Dianne had so lovingly tended for over four years.  She felt lighter, and sadder.  Holding back tears, she saw the wisps of green float down around the black barber’s robe.  They fluttered to the tile floor below.  She saw the woman take out a big electric razor.

“Alrighty, I’m going to shave the rest.”

Dianne held her breath as the razor whirred loudly past her ear.  Then a smaller razor came out, and the hairdresser carefully added shaving cream and went to work with finer detail.  As the remainder of the hair was scraped away, Dianne could keenly feel the cold blast of the air conditioning through the vent and shivered both out of cold and the fear of what she might look like bald.  She didn’t have long to wait.

“All done.  Here ya go.”  She was handed a mirror.

The light skin of her bald pate reflected the bright overhead lights.  The effect was somewhere between a mannequin’s head and a chrome fender.

It isn’t so bad, Dianne thought to herself, if I don’t mind looking like someone going through chemo.

“Oh my Gawd!  Dianne, is that you?!”

A woman came running up to where Dianne was seated.  Her red hair was half up in rollers and an angry hair-dresser was running after her, trying to finish taking them out.

“Hi, Liza,” said Dianne.

“Forget hello, what the **** have you done to your hair?” screamed Liza, “Oh my Gawd!  You look like Britanny Spears!”

Dianne sighed.  How was she going to explain this to Liza, the one who had helped her dye it green in the first place?