One of the things Vanna and I planned to sort out this Christmas was my hair. It has needed a cut for a while, so we thought we’d go somewhere this weekend and get it done. Why was I waiting until she got here? Well, Vanna likes to dictate, and I, uh hate having my haircut, so waiting a few weeks is no skin off my nose. Sure, it’s only postponing the inevitable but I’ll take it because I really don’t like going to the hairdressers. Never have, and I probably never will. It’s the main reason I have long hair in the first place. That and laziness.
Anyway, because we’ve lost six of our precious days together, I thought I’d save us some time and go this morning. So I went into Durham to the place my dad went last week, mumbled a bit about what I wanted, nodded until the hairdresser got onto my confused wavelength, and then let her get on with it (I wasn’t that bad really…not this time). The results to her work…*the gap is to build up dramatic tension for what isn’t a particularly dramatic event but because sometimes I want to make the mundane a bit more exciting I thought I’d try it anyway, is that a problem with you, because if it is, I’m not going to apologize for giving it a go, though I really should end this sentence as the effect is being lost and it is becoming ridiculous*…are below.
Thoughts? Hopefully Vanna will like it. Joking aside, I’m happy enough. I think she did a good job, and I’m rarely satisfied upon leaving a hairdressers. And given how much hair went off my head (could have stuffed a pillow!), she was really quick too. In fact, I was so pleased I even left a tip (the compliment about how good I looked and how soft my hair was didn’t hurt her cause either…). So yeah, I’m happy. But is Vanna? I’ll let you know.