H a i r c u t S t o r i e s
Queen's Ransom
story written and contributed by
Anonymous
| The young boy whistled as he walked down
the street. He had some money in his pocket, and for a lower-class boy
in London in 1679, that was an unusual thing.
Now, where should he spend it? With a sigh, he ran his hands through his thick brown hair. It hadn't been washed or cut in months, and was really starting to get long and beginning to itch. He looked up down the street about 20 feet and saw a salon, where fashionable ladies were walking in and out, all of them with beautiful heads of hair. Well, he wouldn't have the chance long. He walked up the street, and into the salon. It was a beautiful place, with lovely women everywhere, some having their hair cut, some having it curled, others having it dyed. He walked bravely up to the lady at the front. "Hullo. I was wondering if it might be possible for me to have my hair cut. It hasn't been cut in ever so long, and is beginning to feel itchy." "Well, for such a handsome young boy as yourself, all right." The boy looked shyly up at the smiling young lady, only a couple of years older than his sixteen. She was lovely, with a beautiful face, blue eyes, blond hair, and a high bosom that seemed ready to burst out of her dress. She led him to the back of the salon, where he laid down on a couch. She brought shampoo and a porcelain bucket, and began to shampoo his hair. It felt wonderful to have such a beautiful lady wash his hair. The girl took her time with his hair, enjoying how it cleaned up. Underneath that dirt, he had a beautiful mane of reddish brown curls and waves, hanging down to his back in shiny, thick tresses. "Well, I bet you didn't even know you had such pretty hair. It's so soft, and I just love your curls! Do you still want to get it cut?" "No, I really like the way it looks now. How much do I owe you for the shampoo?" "It's on the house. Come back tomorrow and I will wash it again." With that, the boy left. He walked outside, back into the streets and city of London. Suddenly, something in his world had changed. Walking down the street, girls would reach out and play with his hair. Older ladies would ask to touch it, and some women even gave him money to do so. During the next few weeks, he went back to the salon every day. The girl (who he later learned was named Anna) washed his hair and combed it every day, delighting in its beauty. Unfortunately for him, he soon learned why she took such an interest in his hair. During the 17th century, the craze in Europe was for wigs. You have to have hair for wigs, and so often, young children's heads were shaved so that the gentry could improve on the locks God had given them. The day started out the same as all the rest. He went back to her couch, and she combed the flowing auburn tresses out behind him. After the weeks of care, his hair had changed into more of a red than a brown. It was very curly and shiny, and Anna loved to play with it. Sadly, she needed the money, and his hair could get it for her. Other customers, rich ones, had asked about the curls. The rumors about the beauty of his tresses had spread, and an offer had come down from the queen. 1000 pounds for his locks. She slipped some sleeping pills into his tea before he came, and upon drinking it he was soon unconscious. She lovingly combed the usual 100 times, then brought out the scissors. Snip, snip, snip, snip. After a few minutes of hard work, his beautiful mane had been desecrated. Crying, she gathered his hair together and put it aside, readying it for its transformation into the queen's wig. She bent down and kissed his now bald head. Was it worth it? All she knew was that she wouldn't do it again for a queen's ransom. The End. |
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