The hair goes bye-bye

I folded up a doona, putting it on the bicycle and taking off for Beenleigh. The parents wanted to know where I was off to but I waved a hand vaguely and didn't answer.

Next I'm in Beenleigh, Damien's guest. He had turned into Justin Timberlake (don't ask…) and I looked around all wide-eyed at the celebrities at the party Damien had me going to. (I have no idea why there was a big party going on in Beenleigh of all places.) I was wearing something suitably suitable, my hair all done up.

I mingled, trying to be as inoffensive as possible and meandering around. Damien-as-JT was doing his celebrity thing, but at the same time being usual Damien in trying to get me to be really social amongst his friends.

After a bit I patted my hair and felt something very unusual. I headed for the nearest bathroom to check it out—and was aghast. My hair had been torn in little clumps, shaved and leaving bits of long hair. It was all raggledy. I cursed the hairdresser who had so ruined my hair, and looked for a razor blade to shave it all off. I couldn't find one, so ran back into the guests and asked around.

A woman came forwards, telling me she knew where one was, and could remove the hair for me, so we went back to the bathroom. She got out the razor and turned my head as she wanted it, shaving off the rest of the hair, beginning with the front. I thought mournfully of the three years it'd taken to get my hair down to the middle of my back and how it'd take me another five to get it back there. She was taking her time about it all, and I thought about how weird I'd look shaved. I'd look even weirder than I did with short hair.

Damien came by before long, trying to pry me out so I'd be sociable. I called back that I'd be there before long, very soon. The woman cutting my hair pulled at it, then put the blade against my throat, telling me that I wasn't going anywhere but with her. I choked, struggling a little, then somehow managed to get away, blade flying from her hand to fall apart, the razor glittering. I touched my throat where it'd been, blood on my fingers, and glared at her. She squeaked, then ran away.

I went out, aware of how the front part of my head was shaved but the rest was still there. I hadn't been able to get the razor to work on myself, so got my blue velvet hat and put it on, although it was now too large without the hair beneath it. I continued cursing the hairdresser until I remembered that I'd done it to myself.

"Damien. If I ever take any DMC again, smack some sense into me."

Other around looked at me curiously, Damien nodding. DMC was some wonder drug which made people go psycho and do all kinds of things they wouldn't do, ever, if they weren't on it. I had obviously ripped out chunks of my own hair then gotten a hairdresser to fix the remains up in little braids to make it look as least hideous as possible.

I wondered at my own idiocy, then remembered that before going home I still had to get the doona, since I'd slept outside under the night sky and didn't want anyone to know about it. How was I going to explain the hair? It was going to take a lot of getting used to, being bald.