You spot the beauty salon the woman told you about and you head inside. It's almost empty, save for a woman with a bright blue beehive tending to an older woman in a chair. The hairdresser waves a hand holding a comb at you.
"Just take a seat, dear, I'll be with you in a few minutes."
You aren't used to being called "dear," but you sit down anyway. In the waiting area are stacks of magazines. You thumb through them. They're the typical salon variety of beauty and gossip mags. You fail to find anything of masculine interest. Figuring it's just as well, you pick up a catalog of sample hairstyles and begin thumbing through it. There's a lot of styles for hair as short as yours, but you want to have something longer. You'd need hair you can play around with. In your opinion, longer hair meant a prettier girl.
After seeing a few permed styles you aren't sure would look good on you, you find that there isn't much in the catalog for lengthy styles.
The hairdresser calls you over. You notice the old woman now has what looks like a garden on her head. Grass and flowers are growing from her scalp as if it was made of soil. You try not to stare, but fail miserably.
"The 'earthy' look is in these days," the hairdresser remarks, patting an empty chair. You take a seat. "So, what can I do for you? Don't tell me you want that little crop cut off."
"Actually, I was wondering if you could give me extensions or something like that." Only now, as you make the request out loud, do you realize how strange it is for you to be wanting longer hair.
You seem to have brightened the hairdresser's mood, because she clasps her hands together and says proudly, "'Something like that?' My pleasure. A girl like you could use a foot or two." She walks over to a rack full of combs and brushes, looking through them for a specific kind. "What's your fancy? Straight? Wavy? Super-curly?"
You're not sure, but you figure straighter hair would be easier to manage. "Straight, with a little bit of wave," you answer.
"Delightful!" The woman continues browsing, then makes an "a-ha" gesture before pulling a brush from the rack. "I always say, it's such a shame how many people come in here asking for a bob or a crop. And don't get me started on skinheads! Talk about one-time-only customers!" She begins to brush your hair while you watch in the mirror. As the mop on your head becomes neater, you realize that it's somehow growing longer. With each stroke of the brush, your hair gains nearly an inch.
You stare, captivated at the sight of a brush that seems to gently pull more and more hair out of your scalp. She brushes it until every strand reaches chin level. All traces of your boyish looks are gone. For the first time you see yourself as a true girl, framed by a pretty little curtain of hair.
"What do you think?" the hairdresser asks. "Want to go longer?"