Carolyn seeded her hair with corn and stumbled into a field full of crows, hoping death would come in a frenzied beating of black wings and a scourge of razor-sharp beaks. She would star as a dark-haired, dark-eyed Tippi Hedren in her own remake of Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”
But the crows were wise to her, realizing their reputations were bad enough already. No use adding murder by murder to their already lengthy rap sheet. They cackled at her instead. Carolyn felt humiliated.
To make it worse, the corn took root in her scalp and flourished, nourished no doubt by the additives in her costly shampoos and conditioners. The lush stalks sprang up so quickly that she dressed as the state of Nebraska for Halloween.
By Thanksgiving the ears were ready for harvest, and everyone at her table remarked that it was the sweetest corn they had ever eaten. Yum!
She cut down the yellow stalks on Christmas Eve, bundling them together and burning them in place of a yule log. The baby Jesus in her annual creche was pleased with the orange glow.
By New Year’s Eve her hair had come back completely—thicker, shinier and more luxurious than ever, almost certainly due to crop rotation. Men followed its vaguely corny perfume around the party she attended. At midnight two potential suitors got into a fistfight over which of them would be first to kiss her as the clock struck twelve. While they were tussling, she awarded a non-combatant the privilege.
She awakened glowing on New Year’s Day. In a matter of months her life had completely turned around.
Carolyn was happy her suicide attempt had failed.