As if it was the Seventies and we were back in high school starring in that musical.
Before Corona, getting your hair cut or colored, styled or permed was no big deal.
Now that the salons are closed, you’ve got to have your stylist’s private number
And beg him to make a house call which he might just do if you pay him cash.
I’ve heard tales of honorable men who’ve driven 600 miles to see a barber
And an otherwise law-abiding granny who let her stylist set up shop in her backyard.
Before Corona, getting your hair done was boring and mundane, an appointment that could be postponed or even cancelled if something better came along.
But now, Post Corona, it’s become as cool as sneaking into a speakeasy at the height of Prohibition.
Bathtub gin, anyone?
I’ve decided to protest this injustice, an infringement on my right to look forever young.
Maybe I haven’t stormed the capitol building like they did in Michigan,
But I’m fighting my own one-woman war against the new normal.
Yes, I’m letting my hair grow long and gray,
The way it would have looked if I had joined a cult or lived in the 19th Century.
Sometimes I wear my hair in a ponytail or a braid,
The way I did in junior high school.
And what will happen when the City says that the salons can finally reopen?
To steal a line from Elliot Ness of the Untouchables,
I think I’ll have a drink.
Make mine a cut and color on the rocks.
May 22, 2020