Cleopatra-ish

"Stop fidgeting!" I yell as I try to straighten Consuela's head so I can do a good job.  I've managed to convince her to let me cut some bangs, since she refuses to go and get her hair cut until the Taco Stand is in full swing.

"Yer iz going to poke out de eyes!" she wails back at me as if I'm suffering from Parkinson's disease.  I stop for a moment in case the lack of coffee is making me shake, but then realize that Consuela is just being stupid.

"Do you want me to do this or not?" I ask and cross my arms in front of me nearly clipping one of her cheeks by accident with the scissors.

She glares.

"Sorry," I say with a half chuckle at the irony of what just happened.  I don't think Consuela is amused.

"Why iz yer haf to do dis right dis second?" she says to me without standing up from the chair. 

"Right this second?" I say.  It's obvious my mannerisms have rubbed off on the way she speaks.

"Because," I say as I grab a chunk of what could be bangs and make one swift slice with the scissors.

The hair falls to the floor peacefully, and so I begin to snip away at the jagged pieces.  "You need a change." I tell her as I straighten the bottom of her bangs to more or less look Cleopatra-ish.

"There!" I say, as I step back so Consuela can squint at herself in the mirror.

"Much better, no?" I prod.

She shrugs her shoulders then reaches for her sneakers.

"Sanks," she says without any real sincerity before grabbing her duffel bag and heading towards the door.

"It really looks much better," I say as convincingly as I can.  But the truth is, I am a bit worried that when the humidity sets in the bangs may be uneven.

But for now, I'll keep that thought to myself.

After the door clicks behind her, I go to reach for a broom to sweep up the remainder of the hairs.  It's weird having more work to do around the place, now that Consuela is starting her own business.

I hope she does amazing.  I hope she has a chain of Taco Stands one day.

Then I could laze around all day while she works her ass off....for a change.

As I bend to sweep the clumps of hair into the dustpan, I notice that some of it looks out of place.  Some of it is long and light brown....

...like mine.

I walk towards the mirror and notice jagged Cleopatra-like bangs staring back at me.  I think for a moment because I don't remember the scissors ever being in Consuela's possession.

When I look back down at the hair on the floor, it's changed in texture.  Now all of it is light wavy brown like my own.

I look back to the mirror and try my best to straighten out what I can with the scissors, but cutting into a reflection requires a certain amount of coordination -- which I don't seem to have.

When I more or less even out the fringe, I put the scissors back where they belong, and the hair in the garbage before putting the broom back in the closet.

When Consuela gets home today, I'll have to tell her that I don't find her little joke amusing.  I've never looked good with bangs.

They're just not my thing.