I thought it was time to go to the hairdresser i.e. you could see my roots from space.
I love love love going to the hairdresser. More so now that I am a parent. Why? Because it’s like a mini break! Just me, my trashy magazines and kid free mind.
Bliss x 1000!
So I booked in and went last night. As soon as I step into my hairdressing salon, I feel relaxed. My hairdresser always starts with a tiny little shoulder massage before the real skills take place. I know! A massage!!! These guys are freaking awesome.
Off she went, spraying some yummy lemon spray around my face and shoulders, then started the glorious (and not long enough) massage. You could have probably heard my groans and sighs from the next suburb. Sorry, but not sorry. This was my time and everyone would have to put up with my disgusting noises for now.
Then came the actual fixing uppering of my hair. Good luck hairdresser. This may take hours for you to do your thang. Yay! Hours!
HOURS AND HOURS, I TELL YOU!! You will not hear any complaints from me.
While I blissfully flicked through my magazine and caught up with the latest goss, my hairdresser did the unthinkable. She started talking.
Oh no honey. Don’t talk to me. I have enough of that at home. My kid could talk an ear off an ear of corn. He’s that good. All I want here…….is pure silence.
But, unfortunately all the normal phrases came out….
How was your week?
What are you getting up to on the weekend?
I obviously don’t have children so I don’t understand how precious this time is to you, so I am going to keep yapping. Okey dokey?
No! No! NO!!! Please be quiet. I know you must be a lovely lady, but I really do want some quiet time please. This is the only reason I come here. For some chill out time. My hair really isn’t that important.
I think she understood where her place was in the world with me, once I gave her one worded answers and acted like I was very enthralled in the latest Kim Kardashian article. I wasn’t acting actually. I was very interested.
Once it was all over, I begged to stay……..
“Please let me stay! I will pay. Just do my hair again. Let’s pretend you did a shitty job. I won’t tell your boss. Please!! I need this!!!!!”
Well, those words were actually spoken in my head. But I tried with the whole ‘read-my-mind’ thing.
Sadly, it was finished. I had to leave my relaxation and hair touching, plus the way too short massage. As Justin Timberlake would say, cry me a river. Oh, I was crying. Crying lakes, rivers and algae ridden ponds. I wanted to STAY!
She asked if I was happy with my hair. Honey, you could have made me look like Cyndi Lauper and I would still love you. What with all the hair touching, massaging, no kid, relaxation stuff you did. I love you. Please adopt me.
Just as long as you don’t talk through our adoptive relationship.
Do any other parents act like this when they go to the hairdresser? Am I the only one?
p.s. If it didn’t cost me the equivalent of a small car, I would go to the hairdresser weekly. My hair looks great, but the enjoyment of some ‘me’ time stands out more.