Wednesday, 8 March 2017

Hair...

Yesterday I made my regular trip to the hairdressers to get a hair cut.  Now this sounds like I am fairly organised doesn't it, but when I tell you that in the last year I have had three haircuts, one every four months, then that's not quite so brilliant.  Regular, but not brilliant.

I knew I was going to be in trouble with Joe, my stylist of choice, as soon as I sat down. 'Thought you'd died', was his opening comment.  Aah, more trouble than I thought then. Lifting my hair up like it was a dead fish, he looked over his glasses.  'Ready to go with the skinhead look then?'

You see, being straight means that I have to get the hairdryer and straighteners out, and it would appear that they have caused my hair just the teensiest bit of damage at the ends. Joe called it 'nuclear' which was probably more accurate, and tutting loudly and often, he set to work on my hair with a pair of hedge clippers and removed three inches of hair.  It looks lovely now, but he made me swear on all that was holy that I wouldn't touch the straighteners for at least two weeks.

I promised naturally.  I mean, he had me a half Nelson at the time and he's not a small chap, so who was I to argue?  I will try though, so if my newly shorn hair looks like it's growing out rather than down, please don't mention it.  I'll probably have to wear one of my loopy hats wherever possible, in an attempt to flatten it.

I also had my roots done while I was in there.  I know you are picturing about an inch or so of grey wiry frizz along the parting, but let your mind go free and imagine five inches.  I have therefore gone back to my ditsy blonde colour which I love, and the greys are gone for now...

I was in the salon for quite a long time yesterday (three hours) and managed to fall asleep at the basin.  They will stick the back massager on while they are washing my hair, and leaving me alone for ten minutes while the conditioner sinks in is a recipe for disaster.  I was warm, I was comfortable. I'd had a lovely cup of tea, My feet were up.  The back massager was going full pelt.  Z's beckoned...

It was only the rustle of latex gloves in my ear which brought me back to the land of the living with a start.  I must have a subconscious memory with regard to those gloves - you know the ones which make a most satisfactory 'twang' when stretched...

So having spent most of my afternoon in Joe's capable hands, I was too late for my normal Pilates session last night.  Not wanting to miss it, I tipped up at the later class, thinking it would be the same.

How wrong I was.  I may be able to get my shoes on by about Friday, and don't even get me started on my socks.

But at least my hair looked lovely...


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