I took a much-needed trip to the hairdressers yesterday. I hadn’t been there for several months and my age was beginning to show in my hair, grey bits appearing everywhere as some people liked to keep reminding me. So off with it to the hairdressers. My usual hairdresser was not available so I was booked in with another one. A man! In fairness I think he is the nephew of the owner who normally does mine but a strange man running his hands through my unruly mop?
It could only be very, very good…or very, very bad.
Thanks to reading fat mammy cats panic about her own trip to the hairdresser I got a bit worked up beforehand…not as bad as I used to be though, when I would sit in stoney silence gripping the armrests or wringing my hands under the cloak praying for them to just be finished so that I could get the frick out of there.
He was good! He was very good! No unnecessary chat about upcoming holidays, going out tonight or any of that lark. There was a bit of a nervous moment when he was cutting the front of my hair and I found myself face to crotch (he was very tall) and I’d to make a conscious effort to look elsewhere. Although when a shorter girl is doing it I usually end up face to boobs and am stuck with the same dilemma 🙂
He did a marvellous job, I went out last night and everyone told me how fabulous it looked and I felt great. Job done!
(Not actually me!)
Pity the poker straightness didn’t last, my hair has a mind of it’s own. At least it was on best behaviour for one night 🙂