Wife-In-Law by Haywood Smith

something.
    Then it came to me, like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.
    “Ladies,” I called to my blockaded guests, “if y’all could please bear with me, I’ll be right back and deal with this.”
    I raced inside to my dressing room and the bathroom, grabbing what I needed, then I headed for the kitchen. “I need this,” I told Sarah as I untied the cutwork apron she was wearing, then put it on and dropped what I’d collected into its deep pockets.
    I motioned to the stylist and makeup artist. “Could you two please bring some of your things and follow me?”
    They exchanged curious glances, then nodded. The stylist grabbed his comb and scissors, and the makeup artist gathered a few brushes and her tackle box full of cosmetics.
    Back on the front porch with them in tow, I smiled and raised my voice to declare, “As you ladies know, we are giving away some free makeovers today, thanks to two of Buckhead’s finest cosmeticians, Stephen Manus for Salon Divine, and Kelly Cooper from You, You, You on East Paces Ferry.”
    A smattering of applause prompted the cosmeticians to take a bow.
    I went on. “As it turns out, we have quite a few uninvited guests.” A murmur went up among the women. “Never let it be said that the party of Lincoln lacks manners,” I went on. “So I am now extending the makeovers to include our protesters.”
    A confused murmur passed among the lie-ins.
    I bent over to tell them, “Anybody who wants to participate, please remain lying on the ground. We will take this as a sign that you want to have a makeover. If you don’t want one, simply get up and go back to the sidewalk.”
    Amused chuckles and applause spread through my side of the confrontation.
    Kat tucked her chin in consternation.
    I straightened, waiting for a response. When none of the picketers got up, I summoned my courage and initiated Plan A. “Well, it looks like you all want to participate. This is going to be fun.”
    Pulling my battery-powered hair clippers from my apron pocket, I stepped over behind the head of the hairiest of the lot, a tall, fat man with tattoos and long, frizzy hair, plus a huge multicolored beard. “You, sir, are our first lucky ‘Dress for Success’ makeover winner!” I flicked on the clippers, then grabbed his beard and managed to cut off two-thirds of it just below the chin before he jerked away from me and shot to his feet.
    “Bitch, you cut my beard!” he hollered.
    Cheers erupted from my guests, inside and out.
    “Nobody gets away with that,” he bellowed, drawing back a fist.
    The onlookers gasped, but before he could hit me, Kat leaped up and hung on his cocked arm to stop him. “No, Moose! Don’t. This is a nonviolent protest. Peace, man. Peace!”
    Meanwhile, the braver of my guests came out onto the porch to back me up.
    Furious, Moose stroked the scraggly remaining tress of his beard. “I’ll sue you for doing this to me!” he shouted, towering over me.
    “But we’re not finished,” I said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll love it when we’re all done.” I looked to the stylist. “I’m thinking crew cut. What do you say?”
    Stephen blanched, eyes wide.
    Then a skinny male protester with a ponytail jumped up and pointed at me. “That’s assault and battery,” he accused. “I was a law student. That’s assault and battery.”
    I knew all about assault and battery from growing up in my old neighborhood. “Actually,” I said sweetly, “assault is a threat of harm or violence.” I scanned my watching guests. “We have plenty of witnesses, here. Were any threats of harm or violence made?”
    “No!” they responded as one.
    Defensive, the ex-law student stuck out his chin. “Well, you can’t cut somebody’s hair without their permission!” He waggled his finger. “That’s battery, and battery is a felony.”
    He didn’t scare me. “But I had tacit permission, which is permission, by default,” I responded, undaunted.
    “That’s garbage,” another