Crowning glory

I’m really fussy about hair. Obsessive, some would say. When I’m in any way stressed, I compulsively play with the hair at the back of my head and find bits that are longer than those next to them and I cut them off, whereupon another piece of hair longer than all the rest magically materialises right next to the spot where I cut the last bit, if you see what I mean. The strange thing is that I actually like artfully messy hair, so you wouldn’t think having some strands longer than others would bother me. I’ve filed this away amongst ‘things about myself I don’t understand.’

(Reader beware: I have a feeling this is going to be one of my rambling pieces, full of convoluted sentences and multiple brackets.)

Luckily, I have lots of hair and it’s possible to disguise my inexpert cutting most of the time (actually, I guess I’m not too bad at this cutting stuff because lots of people admire my hair). But a couple of times a year I feel the urge to seek the aid of a ‘professional’.

Yesterday was one of those days. Optimistic as always, I was convinced that Peter, my hairdresser, would be able to weave some sort of magic and I would emerge after a couple of hours looking positively ravishing with the hairstyle I’ve dreamed of.

Why I persist in this belief is something of a puzzlement because, for the past 16 years, I’ve been having a communication problem with Peter. He always seems to understand what I want, but something goes wrong during the translation.

This time I took a picture with me.

See what I mean by ‘artfully messy’? In truth, I’d probably be unable to resist cutting off that long bit. And, on an especially stressful day, all the other messy bits as well. Then I’d end up with ‘neat’ again. I don’t like neat.

Peter was very enthusiastic about this hairstyle, and I really thought that’s what I would get, which was pretty unrealistic, now that I come to think about it, because my hair just wasn’t long enough in the first place.

You might wonder why I keep going back to Peter. I have tried other hairdressers from time to time, but they’re either not as good or they’re astronomically expensive (instead of just ‘quite expensive’ like Peter). But there are other more important reasons for my loyalty to Peter, not all of them logical.

1. He’s Welsh, and I don’t know any other Welsh people.
2. He’s charming and a scintillating conversationalist … interesting, offbeat stuff.
3. He always has great music playing … performers i didn’t even know about.
4. The salon is always a happy place
5. I get to enjoy the MARVELLOUS massage chair while having my hair washed.

Anyway, I didn’t get my dream hairstyle and I came away nearly $200 poorer (Aussie dollars) – $120 for the cut and colour, $60 for product and $10 for a taxi back to work. I didn’t have to buy the product and they didn’t even try to sell it to me – I volunteered to buy it. Temporary insanity is my only explanation.

The hairstyle is OK. Others say they like it, but people are polite aren’t they. Perhaps after I train it a little …….

I WISH I weren’t so fussy about hair.