Metal flashes by her face.
I will not cry, she thinks, gritting her teeth, eyes firmly closed. She feels the razor slash; a grating, renting sound filling the air. Over and over it flashes and slashes. Finally, it stops.
“There, finished. That looks so much better.”
Slowly she opens her eyes and sees hair covering the floor. Then she looks in the mirror.
“You’re right, Rod, the short bob really suits me. Glad I had it done!”