The one where the nice lady stole my hair again
In the absence of anything interesting or remarkable to impart this fine Tuesday lunchtime, perhaps a mugshot of what's left of my hair will suffice. My hair had been growing increasingly unruly over the last couple of weeks, and given my reluctance to devote any time or effort into looking after it, I got it all chopped off. Again.
I know a few people will be downhearted that I'm not growing it out – I've had long hair though – I'm not doing it again. To get to long hair you have to go through the “fairly long hair” stage, where it looks stupid. Then when you finally get to the long hair stage, you have to look after it. I remember going through a big bottle of shampoo and conditioner every week. Nope. Not doing that again.
I guess if you were a voyeur, the attraction of getting your hair cut fairly regularly is the hope that you might get the prettiest girl in the salon leaning over you (probably thinking about what she's going to have for lunch, but still...). Today I did get the prettiest girl in the salon – actually theonly girl in the salon – and have no doubt she became lost in thoughts of lunch, rather than my sparkling repartee. In my defence, I was tired, hassled, and just wanted to get my hair chopped off, and head off to work. She probably sensed it.
“Cold today, isn't it”
“Yep.”
That was it. Our entire conversation, other than showing a mother of a small boy how short my hair was after being clippered...
“Oh no – not that short!”
Fine. You get your little boy's hair cut like a 1950s book cover character. Go ahead. See if I care.