The Simple Minds concert is on Monday night and, to compensate for not buying a new outfit, I decided to get my hair cut. Sure, doesn't every woman love being pampered and getting her hair done? Umm, no. I always start off thinking I love getting my hair done, and always end up in the car on the way home, fighting back tears, and thinking how I hate it. And the whole process of getting my hair done follows a very distinctive pattern...
First, you look in the mirror one day and think 'my hair is getting long'. And then, over a few weeks, the thought progresses from 'I really need a trim' to 'There's no style at all to my hair' to 'It looks like a tangled bush'. Eventually it gets to the stage that even the kids are suggesting 'You should do something with your hair, Mom. It looks weird'. So you book the appointment and the excitement starts to creep in. I'm getting my hair done, I'll be all pampered, I'll come out looking great!
The morning of the appointment arrives and for the first time in ages (since the morning of your last hair appointment actually) your hair looks A-mah-zing! Bit of a bounce to it, falls neatly where it should, has a bit of a shine. And you feel great and sexy and confident as you walk into the hair salon. You sit down and leaf through the magazines thinking that if you look this great now, imagine what you're going to look like afterwards! Then they sit you down in the chair in front of the mirror to wait for your 'consult'.
A word about the mirrors in hair salons - they are exactly like the mirrors in changing room cubicles. Which means, they make you look Horrible! They add about ten pounds and there is nowhere to hide. At least in the changing room you can cower privately in the corner as you try on clothes. You can also choose to ignore the 'big' (pun intended) picture and just focus on whether or not this shade of red suits your arm; how does the collar suit my neck; how does my bum look... Basically, you look at yourself in separate bits, not as a whole. But while sitting there in a hair salon's chair staring at your face in a mirror, it's kind of hard to miss your face in the mirror. And by face, of course I mean three chins. Then along comes the stylist who, naturally, is about 5 foot, blonde, and weighs less than my left hand. So between the unflattering (mean, horrible, nasty) mirror and Thumbelina standing beside me, I'm feeling like Shrek.
But then the situation takes a turn for the better. The stylist seems really nice, not at all put off by my huge bulk in the chair, and says 'So, what are we doing today?'... What a lovely word 'we' is... It instantly evokes a sense of camaraderie, a feeling of togetherness. I sit up a bit in the chair, a smile beginning to form on my lips, and start to speak... Well, I was thinking of A, B, and C, all the while she is nodding and smiling and looking at my hair - leading me on under false pretences, in other words. Then she stands up straighter and says 'Okay, I will do X, Y, and Z'.. Wait!!! Why 'I'? What happened to 'We'?? I don't understand. Did she not hear me properly, or understand what I was saying? Does she want to try out a new skill? Or does she think - you are so fat, all I can do to somewhat retain my reputation is x, y, and z.... If that's the case, I wish they would just be honest and say so out loud, and not let me think that I actually have any say in the styling of my hair.... Of course, I nod and smile and agree and die a little inside - every single time.
When I got home no-one noticed I got my hair cut ... Anyway, the concert should be good fun... maybe I'll wear a hat.
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