A weight off my shoulders

I had my haircut on friday afternoon.

Nothing too unusual but I rarely attend to matters tonsorial so a visit to the hairdressers is always a bit weird for me. I find the experience equally pleasurable and painful due to the random nature of who will end up cutting your hair.

I prefer women cutting your hair - they tend to give you a haircut that suits you rather than some stroppy prima donna bloke cutting it who gives you the haircut that he wants.

I was lucky as it was a woman but I had picked this hairdressers because of the high female to male ratio. And what a woman she was. Buxom (has that word been used since 1970?)and blonde - she was fighting a losing battle with a boob tube type top she was wearing and had clearly been applying mascara on a daily basis without a thought for removing any prior applications. This was going to be fun.

I sat down and showed her the picture and she looked at me then at the picture then back at me. I could tell her brain was superimposing the magazine hair on my features. She computated it a little longer before giving me the nod. She approved and I was happy.

I was waiting for the chat bit - you know, the bit where they ask you where you're going on holiday and the like.

She did'nt ask. Instead she told she had just got back from Ibiza and she was knackered and not very talkative and she was sorry she was'nt going to be very conversational. Pure joy.

When she'd finished she pointed out the mound of hair on the floor. It looked like Uncle Fester of the Addams Family had melted. She then closed the experience with this comment.

'I can't believe how heavy your hair is/was. My hands are really tired now and I've got a cough'

Great haircut though. Great woman. I shall be going back there again if only to ask what on earth she meant.