Stories and Humor to Make You Laugh by C.L. (Cindy) Beck
Tags: hair-raising event, hair, humor
Photo © tnimalan
Today I'm writing about those hair-raising events that happen to all of us in life ... tornadoes ... earthquakes ... haircuts.
Not long ago, I went to get my golden locks trimmed. Oh, don't look at me that way—okay, I went to get my gray locks trimmed. My stylist works from her home and as I got out of the car and walked to the door, I noticed her cat, sitting in the yard and pondering something.
"Hey, cat, what are you thinking?" I asked. In psychiatric terms, talking to a cat has a name, but I forget what's it's called. Probably Alzheimer's disease. Nonetheless, in small towns people look more favorably upon the uniqueness of each individual's quirks, and so my neighbors don't even comment about my habit of talking to critters.
At least not to my face.
But ... I digress. I waited, but the cat didn't answer. Instead, she gave this little hop, ran a step or two and gave another hop.
"Ah ha! Miss Meow is up to something," I said, only this time under my breath so that the neighbors didn't think I was crazy.
I walked closer, watching the cat pounce around the yard like a furry Slinky. And then I saw it—a little gray mouse not smart enough to stay close to bushes and trees, or to hide. Instead, it had meandered across the dry grass, in plain sight of Miss Meow.
A door slammed behind me and I jumped in surprise. A voice said, "Cindy, why are you standing out here, staring at Miss Meow? Have you been talking to the animals again?"
Turning, I saw my hairstylist standing on the porch, her blow dryer pointed accusingly at me, like a modern day gunslinger about to blow me away. Except she was more like a hairslinger.
My cheeks flushed warm, and I wasn't sure if it was from guilt or the hot sun. Not wanting to admit I'd been talking to the cat, I ignored her, walked onto the porch and gestured toward the feline in question. "She's catching a mouse."
"Eeeeeeewwwww!" Mrs. HairSlinger wrinkled her nose. "I hate mice!"
"Yes, but they have a place in the cosmos, in God's great plan for the eternities, with each creature created by a loving Heavenly Father who—"
"They stink up the house!" Mrs. HairSlinger interjected, pinching her nose closed with two fingers. "And they're creepy. They jump and run up your pant legs."
She had a point there, and mice weren't necessarily my favorite, but rather than watch my reputation as Mrs. Doctor Doolittle flushed down the drain, I tried again. "Creepy? Not hardly. What about Mickey Mouse? He's cute."
Mrs. HairSlinger placed her hand on my forehead and mumbled, "She doesn't seem to have a temperature. Maybe the neighbors are right, and she's just plain nuts."
I cocked one eyebrow. "I heard that. Just because I'm an animal lover doesn't make me deaf, you know."
She opened the screen door, and motioned for me to step inside. "You do realize that Mickey Mouse is a cartoon character, right?"
"Humph! Of course I do." I glanced back at Miss Meow, who by now had managed to capture the pitiful creature and was slinking toward the porch with it in her mouth. It gave me the heebie-jeebies. I jumped into the house, Mrs. HairSlinger followed faster than a speeding a bullet, and we slammed the door.
A sly smile crossed her face. "I thought you loved animals?"
"I do, but mice are a little lower on my list, and although I love Mickey Mouse, I have to admit I'm not partial to a wild one running up my leg."
An hour later, with my golden locks trimmed to perfection (yes, I said golden and neither I, nor Miss Clairol, are taking it back), I walked to the front door with Mrs. HairSlinger following. Opening it, I turned to her and jokingly said, "I hope that mouse isn't still out here because—"
A 500-decibel scream from her ripped through my eardrums, and I panicked. Having no clue what the problem was, I didn't know if I should duck and cover, or run. She grabbed my arm in a grip I would have described as vice-like, if it hadn't been for her nails piercing my muscles and coming out through the other side. It made it a little hard to bolt for the car.
She pointed at the welcome mat. There lay the mouse, dead as can be and left for us as a gift, albeit an unwelcomed one, from Miss Meow.
In retrospect, I found it pretty funny—well, after my hearing returned two weeks later—but I'm not so sure Mrs. HairSlinger will ever be the same again.
------ "A Hair-raising Event" © C.L. (Cindy) Beck, 2011------
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