“Hello?” she said as she answered. “WHAT?” she shouted, ignoring us as we all stared.

“Son of a motherless goat, Noah. How the hell did she get ahold of the clippers in the first place?” she paused, listening for a minute. “Seriously? You didn’t know better than to unplug them and put them away after you cut Jarrod’s hair? ”

Every single one of us gasped at her words, each of us picturing her four year old daughter, Hayden, with a bald patch where she’d most likely shaved her own head.

“I’ll be home in a minute. How much of it is gone?” she asked, warily. Another pause before she sighed heavily and dropped her head to the table, banging it gently against it a few times. She was muttering, “Why me? Seriously, why?” as she did it.

She finally raised her head, registering the silence around the table. She mumbled into the phone again, “I’m on my way,” before ending the call and standing, asking if I could take her home.

I nodded and we all paid our checks, piling into Brandon’s SUV again before I couldn’t take it anymore. “Jenna? Did Hayden shave her head or what?” I asked.

She was silent for a moment and then her shoulders started shaking. I was scared to death that she was losing it and breaking down on us but I realized she was laughing. Amid chuckles she gasped out, “The CAT! She shaved the fucking CAT!”

We all busted out laughing, but didn’t say a word when Jenna’s eyes started looking suspiciously damp. We pulled up outside Skin Deep where everyone had met since Emma had gone in with Luke this morning to do a little bit of ordering. Jenna got in her car and sped off after promising to send us all pictures of the poor cat.

Emma’s mom, Jan, gave us all hugs and left, also, saying she needed to go home because they were meeting friends for dinner.

Emma, Leah, and I decided to go inside and see what the guys were up to. I knew Brandon was working, but I hadn’t heard from Jacks, so I assume he was at his house working on it. When we walked in, the lobby was empty except for Luke, Brandon, and some frizzy headed bimbo that was bouncing around and screaming like a banshee. And if she didn’t watch the bouncing, we’d be seeing (unfortunately) a lot more of her than we’d ever want to!

“I said, you stupid ass bastard, that you ARE going to FIX MY TATTOO! I’m NOT leaving until you do!” Frizzy was yelling.

Luke shook his head silently, standing beside Brandon calmly with his arms crossed. Brandon was leaning against the counter nonchalantly, looking every bit as delicious as an ice cream cone. No, seriously. I want to lick every inch of him. Mmmm.

“Look, ma’am,” Luke began. “I don’t know how many times I can tell you, but we are not touching you. Ever. Have a nice day.”

He sounded so calm, but his eyes were flashing. Brandon was looking pretty amused, but I could feel Emma tensing beside me. So, me being me, I started letting my flip-flops slap my feet loudly with every step I took closer to the counter.

“Hey, guys!” I said brightly. “What’s going on?”

Brandon flashed a grin at me and Luke barely glanced my way, instead, reaching out for Emma as she drew closer to him. He was so sweet that way, always touching her whenever he could.

Then Frizzy spoke up. “I’ll tell you what’s going on here! These ASSHOLES are refusing to fix the tattoo they messed up on!” With that, she pulled her already dangerously low riding shirt down even more and flashed me pretty much her whole damned titty.

I squinted, trying to make out what she was pointing at. “What the hell is that?” I asked, not trying to be funny. I seriously couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be.

“That,” she said snidely, “was supposed to be a unicorn with my initials under it.”

I walked closer, peering more intently at the squiggled mess of lines on her saggy, over inflated flesh. If you squinted just right, maybe crossed your eyes a little, you could almost make out the unicorn. If you didn’t it actually vaguely resembled a wavy, three-eared dog with shaggy hair. And the initials? Well, Karma is a bitch, and she is definitely letting herself be known on this one.

“Does that say ASS?” I asked her incredulously. “Your initials are A-S-S?” I snorted unintentionally, trying to smother my laughter.

She huffed and drew herself up (making me back up quickly as her nipple almost poked my eye out), before shrieking, “NO THEY AREN’T! My initials are S-A-S! For Sasha Ann Stanley!”

I snorted again, earning another glare, before asking, “So why does it say A-S-S? Were you drunk when you got it? Or better yet, was the tattoo guy drunk?” I laughed as I asked, not able to help it anymore. Luke cleared his throat behind me and I looked over to see Emma giving me a knowing look. And then it hit me like a lightning bolt out of left field.

“Oh, SHIT!” I yelled. “You’re that chick that Luke busted fuckin’ old dude in Brandon’s chair! Aren’t you!?”

Frizzy didn’t like that much. My bad. Or not…

“R-E-S-P-E-T, you little bitch. You know what that spells?” she screeched. “That spells respect, and as someone who has been given a bad tattoo by this shop, I not only deserve respect, but I DEMAND IT! Now tell that smug bastard behind the counter to FIX THIS SHIT!” She stomped her foot for good measure.

I saw Brandon draw himself up straight behind the counter and heard Emma gasp. Luke dropped his arms down to his sides, but I knew he was tense and ready to grab someone if something went down.

Unable to resist the opening she’d left, I leaned on the counter, forcing myself to look bored, even though I was dying to drop on the ground and laugh my ass off. “Actually, Aretha,” I drawled, “that spells respet. Which, by the way, is not a word. At least not in the English language, anyway.” Going for broke, I lifted a hand and pretended to inspect my nails. “So, next time you want to go spelling things and demanding things, you might want to check yourself. As for the tattoo, well, honey you’re shit outta luck. We all know who you are, and we know how you got that…that…whatever the hell it is on your chest, and no one in this shop is gonna touch you with a twenty foot pole. Mmm ‘kay?”

She narrowed her eyes at me and I straightened away from the counter just in case. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, bitch, and you for damn sure don’t know who I am!” she all but growled at me, cocking her head back and forth like a chicken.

I stepped forward again, smiling when she stepped back away from me, even though she had a couple inches and about 50 pounds on me. “I know exactly who you are. You’re the hoe who let a drunk and high dumbass fuck her in exchange for free ink. Bad ink, I might add, because you let said dumbass stick his dick in you while he was doing it. So, because you were bouncing on his balls, it’s your own fault that you have an unfinished, awful looking mess on your titty. So, do you want to leave it at that and get the hell out now? Or would you rather discuss the broken equipment that Brandon never got paid for?”

And then while she stood there gaping at me, I might have yelled something about bitches moving and getting out of the way, and then stood there laughing as she finally huffed and puffed herself up before turning and stomping out, her titty, that she didn’t bother putting back in her shirt, flopping in the wind with every step.