Finger ... ... Polish Toe ... ... Salon Hit it on the head and you have the answer

Where scissors dance and mirrors reflect, the chair spins tales of transformations while clippers hum a familiar tune, leaving heads lighter and egos sharper.

In darkness deep my life begins, where time and pressure forge my skin. Yet brought to light I gleam so bright, what am I, a hidden delight?

Breath or helium, On a string in a child's hand. Or airbourne basket.

I swell with air, a rubbery moon, Pricked just right, I let out a tune, What am I, that might pop soon?