At Salon Sheena Janelle, the young woman watched as two thimble-sized humans began their ascent up her long, straw-colored locks. They had started off slow, testing that the hair could withstand their weight, but now they were really moving—clearing a full inch of vertical distance every 10–12 seconds. On her left earlobe hung a small green flag that read “trim and blow-dry”; on her right, a bright red flag that read “shave head completely.” So far the tiny human on the right seemed to hold a slight advantage, looking, between the two, to be the more experienced climber.
The young woman loved her yellow hair and despaired at the thought of having to shave it off. She watched in dismay as the left climber lagged ever increasingly behind. At one point, he had lost his grip and slid down a full body length. He looked spent, already beaten.
The climber on the right was now even with the corner of her chin, the flag just seconds away. He pulled himself to the side of her mouth as a brief resting place. Without conscious thought, she grabbed his tiny leg with her teeth, then whipped her head to one side and released it. A faint scream receded into the distance. The climber to the left had taken advantage of her head's momentum to swing upward, and he now dangled victoriously from her lobe, green flag in hand.
The stylist poked her head in, "They're done already? So what will it be?"
The young lady smiled, "Trim and blow-dry, please."