The first snip dug through the strands and I bit my lower lip lightly. The next made its way across my hair. Seven more cuts -- I counted as I sat there shaking - and he pulled his hand away with my hair in his grasp. He dropped it on my lap and I looked down at it, fighting the urge to cry. He snipped away more of my hair and spun the chair so I could look at my deformed-do. There was almost nothing left, although, that was the idea of this little scene of his. .....