Miss Primandproper And Her Hair

So I’m riding down the escalator at the shopping mall, minding my own business, looking around as usual, entertained by what I see as usual, and smiling at what I see as usual. And then snap, just like that, I notice right in front of me, the golden state of invitation. She is the golden state of invitation or rather her head of glorious shiny manicured long chemically dyed blonde hair is the golden state of invitation, still as a statue, not a strand out of place, straight as a ruled line, fascinating in its perfection and so very inviting. I double check and yes it’s an invitation begging. I breathe slow and quiet, I notice a growing urge in my hands to rise up and stroke that hair. I want so bad to touch that hair, unreal looking fake coloured blonde hair, no not blonde, more golden, with a tinge of white thrown in for moral support. To touch those plastic like strands, at this very moment might just bring me more joy than the infinite possibilities of any building block I held as a tender child. And standing behind her I becoming intrigued, perhaps a little too intrigued for comfort, in fact a distinct sense of discomfort is evolving inside me and I try to figure why when it hits me, crack like a hammer on bricks, the creation of modern beauty here on display is actually lifting off of Miss Primandproper’s head, and if I listen very carefully I can hear the roots tearing as the hair obtains its freedom, slipping down over her shoulders and back, clean as a whistle, dropping gracefully and I am left fascinated, enthralled and amazed as I watch it glide off the escalator, along the mall floor and out the door.
And what became of Miss Primandproper? Well nothing, she did not notice a thing and carried on shopping exactly as she was born to do.

Bears Rebellion 20/10/13

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