DiGiovanni Beauty Salon
Yes, there have been times when I've wished I could do it all myself. Times I've dreamed of snipping through those blond and amber tendrils bound only by the vast horizon of my will, wholly immune to the whims of that hand which guides my every move. Such bondage! Tell me—what able-bodied creature does not crave an accomplishment to call his own? What noble steed has not dreamed of charging into battle with a sword clutched in his hoof rather than with a cumbersome knight straddling his back?
Granted, I am just a pair of scissors. But do I not have a soul? Do I not, like she who grasps me, have two arms? I would happily give them both for a voice with which to lament my pitiful condition. I have much to be thankful for—this much is true. My blades are sharp; my reflexes strong. Alas, my strengths are not entirely my own.
But when we work in tandem, her and I—when her hands fuse to my handles and I respond to the touch of her fingers before they even squeeze … well, that’s when the existential dread falls away like so many clipped tresses to the floor, replaced by an overwhelming sense of duty, adventure, even—dare I say it?—pride.
Together, we are no less than trail scouts, blazing through chaotic thickets in the name of civilization. Together, we have conquered the stubbornest of cowlicks and disciplined the most uneven of bangs. We've felt the hard rain of spray bottles pound upon us as we marched around the ear line and ascended toward the highest summits of the scalp.
I have listened for—and hear even now!—a chorus of blow-dry minstrels that sings of our conquests. The tales of our triumphs have spread to the farthest-flung corners of DiGiovanni Beauty Salon. Those who enter from the outside world may not know my name, but when they ask for my stylist, who does she fetch from the blue well of barbicide? No one but I!
To conquer the unkempt. To restore order to a world entangled in chaos. These are my goals. Yes, I am just a pair of scissors. But my blades are sharp, my reflexes are strong, and my victories outnumber the hairs on the most fertile scalps my arms have traversed.