Hairpiece

Hairpiece

She sits in front of the mirror again. A steady drip falls from her
hair onto the melamine dressing table. A picture of perfection is
pinned on the left.

How on earth is she to get from this to that. All she knew was that
John would soon be here to whisk her away.

She opens the drawer and extracts the kit. Comb, brush, gel, curling
tongue, and mmmh, she muses, rescue spray. She lays them out on a
folded towel in front of her.

The process begins, the time seven o'clock.

The operation is going well, when the phone rings. She looks into the
mirror and panics - what now.

It's her mother wishing her well. They talk for a while then a glance
at the mirror tells her she must go.

Her thick blond hair has decided to flick out and no matter what she
tries the flick is there to stay. She looks at the rescue spray.

Then there's a knock and a deep voice calls her name. He enters the
room, dressed in white, as neat and handsome as ever. 'We're ready' is
all he says.

She takes one last look into the mirror and smiles. 'Time of death
seven thirty-five'

'Oh don't say that,' he says 'you may not loose it all.'