Reasons why Fran might need to buy a woolly hat
I lost so much weight yesterday ...
As I gazed around me at the floor of the hairdressing salon after my haircut, I thought, 'Surely that's at least a kilo.'
My hairdresser went a bit crazy with the scissors, like a person with a lawnmower who can't find the off-switch. I think she may have been cross with me because I rang her in the morning and begged for an afternoon appointment. ('Please, please, please fit me in - I look as though I've been dragged through a hedg - no, scrub that - I AM that hedge.')
Why would she be cross, you ask? Surely she wants the custom.
The thing is, I only ever have a dry cut. Unlike most other women I know, I hate being shampooed and frothed and dried and fluffed and puffed about in the salon - I want to get out of there and back home where people only touch me with my permission and ideally a warrant.
So she sprays my head with a garden sprayer, cuts for about five minutes, takes a paltry amount of money from me, and off I go, leaving her needing to book in three perms and a full highlights if she's to pay the rent.
So, yes, I think I may have annoyed her, which is why she went at me like Edward Scissorhands in a hissy fit. Hence, before I went into the salon, I looked like this, minus the orangeness and the cocaine-eyes ...
When my hairdresser had finished with me, I looked more like this.
I know you think I'm eggsaggerating, but when I washed my hair this morning, it took three drips from the tap and one atom of shampoo, then I mostly dried it by strolling past a draught coming through the bedroom door keyhole. Then my husband breathed out as I passed him, and that was the hair-drying sorted.
On Sunday mornings I go to church. I hesitated today, though. I felt as sheep must do who've been diagnosed with lice in their wool, shorn as a matter of urgency, and then sent back into the field for all their fully-woolled and fleecy friends to laugh at.
I walked to church and arrived, newly-exposed ears as red as peonies from the winter chill.
I had conversations with twelve different people during the course of the morning, and not one person mentioned the haircut.
I would use the term 'the elephant in the room' but for its unfortunate connotations. See earlier comment about weight loss.
'I felt like someone bereaved,' I said to my husband later. 'You know, when people you talk to just beat around the bu - skirt around the key issue and avoid looking you in the eyes. Or higher.'
'Maybe they just didn't notice,' he said.
'Pff,' I said. 'They noticed. I saw some eyes widen in a kind of Gandhi-and-Yul-Brynner-have-nothing-on-her way.'
He told me I was being over-sensitive, although now that all my brain tissue has been laid bare to the elements, that wouldn't have been surprising.
Tomorrow, I have to go to school, teach a total of one hundred students about English and have them stare at me, wondering where it all went, and how someone can look so like Sinead O'Connor while not looking like Sinead O'Connor.
If any of them say, 'Miss, are you leaving teaching to go into the Army?' I will run out, sobbing.
As I gazed around me at the floor of the hairdressing salon after my haircut, I thought, 'Surely that's at least a kilo.'
My hairdresser went a bit crazy with the scissors, like a person with a lawnmower who can't find the off-switch. I think she may have been cross with me because I rang her in the morning and begged for an afternoon appointment. ('Please, please, please fit me in - I look as though I've been dragged through a hedg - no, scrub that - I AM that hedge.')
Why would she be cross, you ask? Surely she wants the custom.
The thing is, I only ever have a dry cut. Unlike most other women I know, I hate being shampooed and frothed and dried and fluffed and puffed about in the salon - I want to get out of there and back home where people only touch me with my permission and ideally a warrant.
So she sprays my head with a garden sprayer, cuts for about five minutes, takes a paltry amount of money from me, and off I go, leaving her needing to book in three perms and a full highlights if she's to pay the rent.
So, yes, I think I may have annoyed her, which is why she went at me like Edward Scissorhands in a hissy fit. Hence, before I went into the salon, I looked like this, minus the orangeness and the cocaine-eyes ...
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When my hairdresser had finished with me, I looked more like this.
I know you think I'm eggsaggerating, but when I washed my hair this morning, it took three drips from the tap and one atom of shampoo, then I mostly dried it by strolling past a draught coming through the bedroom door keyhole. Then my husband breathed out as I passed him, and that was the hair-drying sorted.
On Sunday mornings I go to church. I hesitated today, though. I felt as sheep must do who've been diagnosed with lice in their wool, shorn as a matter of urgency, and then sent back into the field for all their fully-woolled and fleecy friends to laugh at.
I walked to church and arrived, newly-exposed ears as red as peonies from the winter chill.
I had conversations with twelve different people during the course of the morning, and not one person mentioned the haircut.
I would use the term 'the elephant in the room' but for its unfortunate connotations. See earlier comment about weight loss.
'I felt like someone bereaved,' I said to my husband later. 'You know, when people you talk to just beat around the bu - skirt around the key issue and avoid looking you in the eyes. Or higher.'
'Maybe they just didn't notice,' he said.
'Pff,' I said. 'They noticed. I saw some eyes widen in a kind of Gandhi-and-Yul-Brynner-have-nothing-on-her way.'
He told me I was being over-sensitive, although now that all my brain tissue has been laid bare to the elements, that wouldn't have been surprising.
Tomorrow, I have to go to school, teach a total of one hundred students about English and have them stare at me, wondering where it all went, and how someone can look so like Sinead O'Connor while not looking like Sinead O'Connor.
If any of them say, 'Miss, are you leaving teaching to go into the Army?' I will run out, sobbing.
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| And I certainly won't risk teaching Hairy Potter |
Haha! My favourite part was the drying techniques (chortle!). I honestly believe people thought, as I do when someone has their hair cut, "You look a bit different. Why? Anyway back to my life..." Kids, though. That's a different matter. Would value a follow-up post on their reaction tomorrow. Thanks for the Sunday afternoon giggles :)
ReplyDeleteI would love to think you're right, Deborah, that people hardly took notice. I suspect I am a teeny-weeny-peeny bit self-obsessed ...
DeleteYou are a great writer. Visiting your site is always nice.
ReplyDeleteSometimes the elephant in the room is invisible to the uninformed. Twice my husband has shaved off his mustache and I didn't notice fore two days, a brother-in-law shave his beard off and I didn't notice until he told me.
That's a very kind comment! Thank you, Toni. And I hope you're right, that no one really noticed the elephant ...
DeleteI did enjoy your Sinead O'Connor comment. And I'm entirely with you about having my head mucked about with. Argh. The very thought of a massage - AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH.
ReplyDeleteOh, good - it's not just me! I thought I was a bit weird. I hate being pampered.
DeleteI LOVE shampoos & massages. I was in the beauty parlor having my hair done. The shampoo girl had finished washing my hair & was massaging my scalp. I was really enjoying it & told her that the way I felt must be how a dog feels when it's being petted. She said that was great but if my leg started shaking she was leaving!!
ReplyDeleteHa ha! You always make me laugh, fishducky. That's a great visual image I have in my head there!
Delete"where people only touch me with my permission and ideally a warrant" -- I laughed very hard indeed at this line!
ReplyDeleteJust say the word and I'll mail you a big ol' knitted tuque from Canada -- hey, I know the ideal one! A hockey tuque from here in Edmonton, orange and blue, with the Oilers logo on the front. You'll be the envy of everyone at church then, LOL!
Actually, other teachers were wearing woolly hats in the office today, which was cold! Thanks for reading, Debra, and for laughing. I like it when I can get people to LOL.
DeleteI'm laughing rather hard here at the contrast between Animal and the egg. Surely you aren't that bald? but a woolly hat might be a good idea, you're heading into winter there.
ReplyDeleteI used to get a dry cut too, wash my own hair the day before or on that morning then go in and get the sprayer treatment.
Now I cut my own. It's long,(ish) so I put it in pigtails and chop a half inch off each one. Trim the fringe by running the scissors just under the eyebrows.
I dare not cut my own hair. I have such bad spatial awareness that I would poke myself in the eye with the scissors. Mind you, then I probably wouldn't care what my hair looked like as I'd have a bigger problem. Swings and roundabouts.
DeleteThere's someone else who hates having their hair washed and blow dried?! I wash mine at home and then scuttle to the salon with it wet, and I've trained her to cut it then hand me the hairdryer to waft at it for two minutes on my own before I slap a few quid on the counter and book in for next month. Bingo.
ReplyDeleteLove this. You always cheer me up. :-)
We are haircut sisters. To be honest, if I could find a local hairdresser who'd come to the house, I would.
DeleteMy hairdresser ( & I go rarely ) has a chair with massage thingy... I could SO fall asleep but the scalding water makes me jump out of my skin... "TEPID please !!!" I shriek but I'll have the tea hot and strong with hardly ANY milk.... did you hear that over the blow dryers... hardly ANY milk !!!
ReplyDeleteBummer as I do need my hair cutting again before Christmas.
This made me laugh, thinking of you yelling over the sound of the blow dryers. You could yell what you liked, couldn't you? (No, no, I said NOT the Mohican!)
DeleteI just get the same haircut each time . No , I don't like it ... but it's what she thinks I should have .
ReplyDeleteThere must be one of those 'Be More Self-Assertive"' books about how to go to the hairdresser successfully , but I haven't found it yet .
I know exactly what you mean. As soon as I'm in that chair and she has the scissors, she has the power ...
DeleteI am like fishducky...I could happily have someone wash and massage my scalp every day...and, yes, you are far too self aware and too self deprecating, but it's also part of your charm. Very amusing post, as all your posts are!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Desiree! You are a very appreciative follower!
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