It has been over a year since I’ve last had my hair cut. It was also a year ago when I put some money aside for a trim after I had given birth. I’m yet to have that trim and by God my hair needs it! I don’t really enjoy going to the hairdressers and here’s why:
- I use up all my ‘talking topics’ in the first few minutes. I then sit there awkwardly and wonder what the bloody hell can we talk about. Why did I book a cut and blow dry. Why not just a cut. ”This weather, hey” is about all I can come up with before I beg the hairdresser (in my head to) offer me some extremely outdated magazines.
- I never know who I will get. I tend to go for the grade of hairdresser who isn’t the most expensive, so I never have ‘Sally’ everytime I visit. I may have Sally one month and Ricardo the next. Sally may be a quiet hairdresser, happy to offer me last years magazines to read. While Ricardo may be going through a sticky breakup and he has to share it with myself, the lady next to me and anyone nearby, asking our advice and thoughts on the situation. I don’t know, I don’t know, I didn’t come here for this, I wish I could help, maybe if you were my regular hairdresser I could offer more assistance, but next time I come here you will have been promoted and far too expensive, since our children shit through nappies like money grows on trees.
- Being offered the massage chair. I’m going to say yes, everyone says ‘yes’ don’t they? Please don’t ask me, in the awkwardly seductive tone, just switch it on and lets not speak of it. Along with offering a head massage, again, yes please, no need to ask.
- All hairdressers I’ve ever visited, I’m sure, have been built in an iron container and disguised as a fancy building. I never get any signal, I assume my children are injured and everyone is trying to get hold of me. I am anxious the entire time, I can’t let anyone know a rough e.t.a on my trim time.
- I feel like I have to dress up nice and wear fancy make-up. Just for a hair cut. There are mirrors everywhere, I am able to enjoy myself at every unsightly angle, worse than the house of mirrors since I can’t blame my appearance on a distorted mirror (although that won’t change the fact I’m wearing leggings with this mornings porridge encrusted on the thigh). The hairdressers are usually young and if they went out to a bar afterwards in their attire, I wouldn’t question it, simply because they all look very glamorous. Quite the opposite of myself.
I need a haircut, a trim, a tidy. I just need to remember I will only be visiting, at best, once a year, for an hour. Needs, must and all that.