A Cosmetologist's Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the shop
Not a sweeper was stirring, not even a mop
The aprons were hung by the windows with detest
In hopes that State board would not come here to rest

The stylists were restless all curled up in their beds
While pictures of hairstyles spun ‘round in their heads
Suzie in her hair net and I in my mask
Got all worked up for our next dreadful task

When out in the street there came a loud crash
I sprang from my chair in hopes of more cash
Off to the sidewalk I ran with such speed
Preparing for a woman with dire hair care needs

The frizz made an afro beyond any compare
And all I could do is stand there and stare
A tear swelled up in the corner of my eyes
At the thought of how those strands must have died

With a fire red color dulled down to mere ash
I knew I needed to fix her up in a flash
I scooped up her arm and rushed her right in
And hoped that St. Nick could help me fix this

I colored and styled and brushed oh so fast
Crossing my fingers that this color would last
I held up a mirror and she smiled so sweet
With her smooth streak brown hair so sleek

She left in a rush but with a check in hand
I was so worn out though, I could barely stand
She passed it to me with a sly little wink
And wished me a Merry Christmas and some nice sleep

I took a gander at the check now mine
And just about fell from my chair when I read who had signed
“Look out your window tonight just because
whatever you want is yours, Yours, Mrs. Claus”.