Hair To The Crown
“Your coiffeur stylist awaits your pleasure, M’am. Let us repair to the dressing room.”
“D’accord, Marie. On y va toute de suite.” Then majesty saunters somewhat regally into her boudoir. They have just hired for her the latest scissors and comb sensation from Vienna, Herr Cutt.
Marie takes charge as Herr Cutt has no French and Majesty refuses to debase herself by speaking German. But all have a basic understanding of English. “Majesty, the stylist would like to show you what he can do with your golden curls, falling so ravishingly onto your shoulders”, the handmaid declaims, and steps back as Her Cutt spends some time arranging a waterfall effect.
“Mon Dieu! You make me seem to look like a whore? Non! Changez it”. The cutter kneels to start again.
“Ich have eine idea for your ‘ead, Oh, queen. (This was pre-guillotine times) He toils again. But in vain. Marie is getting distraught.
“It is now five times you have messed up my royal lady’s hair, what sort of a fool are you? Just one last attempt, and if you fail you will be sent away without a franc.”
So Herr Cutt takes one last breath as he addresses the tresses and says, remembering a phrase he learned from the master hairdresser of Mayfair who taught him all he knows, “Oh, Gawd, Ducky, I suppose we’ll ‘ave to perm it!”