Stella and Bella, the stylists of dandy, can make war hair and bore hair and gore hair and tore hair and sore hair and roar hair and your hair and more hair and ignore hair and explore hair, and make it cotton candy. Stella and Bella, with scissors and with heat, can make bad hair and sad hair and fad hair and too glad hair and mad hair and rad hair and foo-dad hair and zoozad hair and make it very neat.
They clip and they nip and they tuck and they yuck and they cluck and unluck and they cost you a buck. They curl and unfurl and they purl and they yurl and they spurl and they squirrel and they call you a girl. They smell and they gell and they tell and they yell and they bell and they sell and they work fast as hell. They taste and they waste and they do it post haste and they of head lay waste, and they faste and they saste and they do it unmaced.
Ring the bell if you want to get a sell. Call the line if you want to look so fine. Drop the door if you are getting off the floor. Take a peak if it is hair style that you seek.
“Why why why shy fly try no guy, hello Cyclops,” said Stella.
“You you you you flew true goo sue screw and aren’t you, helloo Cyclops,” said Bella, greeting him over the flying heads and chairs and clipping sounds.
Cyclops tells them hi too and she doesn’t know the story for telling, she doesn’t have to say a soul, for Bella and Stella can guess it from the rat of her Cyclops girl hair, they can read the stories in the strands and the knots and the grease and the gusto and split ends and lack of conditioning in the Cyclops hair, once a guy’s and now a gal’s.
Bella comes ova to take a closa look. She has her scissors to help her look and she uses the handholds like spyglasses, she uses the clippers like a mustache. “I think we can help you, but you have to be satisfied.”
“Yes, the smile makes the hairdo too,” says Stella as she turns one more head from gravy into something victorious of gravity for a change.
“We can snip and we can clip and we can trip and we can dip and we can do, but some of it has to come from you,” says Bella as she wields the iron.
“We can curl and we can surl and we can girl and we can unfurl and we can talk as low as Burl, but it has to come from you too, from you and your hair, you have to stick together like glue,” says the Stella as she raises high the bottle of do or the bottle of die.
“You should be happy with who you are,” says Bella, “even if you’re not exactly who you are.”
And they team up twice in magic, and they pour out their hair talent and they make some bees of busyness and surround the head of Cyclops. They make the hairs all stand on end, with all that participation, with all that anticipation, with their clips and perspiration. They wave their magic wands of curl, they fire their guns of molten air, they take a cut and bring it back, they turn a mountain into hair.
When they are done with her, the new she-Cyclops has a hair of head like no other, she is stunning in the top of the drop department, her all forty eyes can’t stop from seeing herself in the forty mirrors that Bella and Stella have ready for just this occasion, and it is as amazing as war is deadly, and Cyclops, feeling so much more a she now, feels a little bit better to be herself and in this place to be now.
Wouldn’t Dingy Bahsome like hair so fine as mine, and that’s what Cyclops thinks, but this hair is mine all mine.
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