Hair today...

In a fit of madness, I've had my hair cut. I say madness, but actually I was just maddened by my sweaty mop falling into my eyes and my looking as though a dishevelled Yorkshire Terrier was sitting atop my head. The recent muggy weather has been playing hell, trichologically speaking - and along with an anti-depressant induced tendency to sweat at the mildest exertion, my hair has been a wild indicator of my physical and mental state.

I have a curious relationship with hairdressers: once, I wanted to be one (but school wouldn't supply me with a reference - they insisted I sit my A-levels. Bastards...) now I shy away from them, fearful of what their mighty scissors might do. When I was a young teen I was visited by a young dykey hairdresser, who would cut my hair in the lounge while gossiping to me about the exploits of her gardener girlfriend. (I didn't stand a chance of heterosexuality, did I?) My hair has never been cut better. Alas, she disappeared one day - after her girlfriend had been discovered to have been doing more than simply trimming a neighbour's bush - and was last heard of in Brighton...

In the past, hairdressers have done some fairly dreadful things to me- the "very nearly a mullet, but not quite" , the "Princess Diana (after she died)", the "football player manqué"... and then there's just the, "too short, too bloody short". Luckily, my current hairdresser - a Scots-Italian socialist whose small talk was today mainly focused on the World Cup - errs just on the right side of sensible when he wields the scissors. I don't have much to complain about - and I haven't been asked about my holidays once - I have been grilled on what I thought about eco-tourism, but it's not the same thing.

Today's 'do is a little on the short side, but not hat-wearingly so. Give it a couple of weeks and it will be fine-I have to keep telling myself that: it's my post- haircut mantra to deal with the rising panic every time I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror.

-Bet the weather changes, now I'm prepared for the heat...

1 comments:

straighttalker05 said...

Most of our hairdressers can't spell or count. Hence being in their presence with scissors makes me nervous.

I have therefore chosen the most intelligent one I can find to be entrusted with my locks.

However, even she was assuring me Russia was a small country.