Friday, October 23, 2009
I went to the hairdresser's this afternoon for a 'cut and blow'. (Male readers - it's not as painful as it sounds!). I am not all that enamoured of visits to the hairdressers; if I could take my head off and do my hair myself, I would, although I suppose it is quite nice to have someone else doing the washing and blow-drying for a change.
This time, there were two new people to attend to my needs.
The shampoo girl was determined to do serious damage to my neck as I leaned backwards over the sink. By the time she had finished, I felt as if I had done five rounds with Mike Tyson and that my neck would never belong to me again.
The lady who cut my hair was new to me too.
She asked me three times if I have a fringe.
Then she excused herself to go and take some paracetamol as she had a headache.
I could deal with all that, but when she started telling me that her optician had declined to give her varifocals this time and she had difficulty seeing properly without them, I began to get rather more concerned...
However, she did a surprisingly good job and I escaped from the place looking better than I had before.
Which, after all, was the object of the exercise.