In which I desperately need a Hairdresser
Updated: May 3
I am now a fortnight overdue for a hair appointment and my fringe is so long, it's starting to tangle with my upper lip hair!
I don't think the photo above really does justice to the dire state that my hair is in. Don't get me wrong, I'm thoroughly enjoying the freedom of not having to do my hair and makeup each morning, but I was due an appointment at the hairdressers over a fortnight ago and my fringe is now so long, that it's starting to intertwine with my upper lip hair! I'm having to use my Daughter's Tangle Teezer before each meal, just to make an opening to locate my mouth! It's constantly poking me in the eyes. I'm getting a repetitive strain injury from having to shake my head to part the locks and every time a catch sight of myself in the mirror, it seems to of parted itself in a different place. I've unwittingly sported all the forgotten looks of times gone by: the nineties curtains exhibited by my Brother-in-Law at fourteen; the side swept fringe worn with a towering beehive in the sixties; flicked out to the sides a la Farrah Fawcett in the eighties and back to my own College grunge hairstyle, which consisted of so much hair covering my eyes, I couldn't make my way from A to B without a chaperone to lead me there! Each time my Hairdresser has finished cutting my hair, she reminds me that I'm welcome to pop in for a complimentary fringe trim anytime between now and my next appointment. Anything to stop me hacking away at my own barnet until it reaches a stage that is beyond redemption, even with her expertise. Whilst playing a couples Quiz on Zoom (we won three rounds out of three, but who's counting), I told a friend of mine with her own Salon, that I was getting so desperate, I was planning on letting The Husband cut my fringe for me. She visibly recoiled in horror and said she'd rather he dyed it for me than took the scissors to it! I managed to persuade her to give us some tips (I think she realised we were going to do it anyway and it would be better if she tried to provide some damage limitation). I got the impression she would rather I just left it to grow into a full on mask, a la Cousin Itt of The Addams Family, than let anyone, other than a fully qualified stylist, try to trim my unruly fringe.
I had been putting it off for days, but in the end I finally relented and let The Husband cut it for me. Each morning I'd been saying to him "I really need you to trim my fringe today" and then, as the night drew in, I found that I hadn't mentioned it again. After a week, I was at the stage where I was so irritated by it, I virtually got down on my hands and knees and begged him to take the scissors to my barnet. I was so despondent, that I just flopped into a dining chair brought close to the natural light of the kitchen window, ready to surrender and let him take the garden sheers to my coiffure. To his credit, he worked slowly and methodically on the fringe, only once poking me on the upper eyelid, for which he apologised profusely (he knows the drill; we've been married for 14 years!) After a good ten minutes, he finally announced that he was done. I gingerly approached the bathroom mirror.......... and I have to say, I don't think he did a bad job! Now I'm no expert, but it looked reasonably straight to me (I wasn't expecting miracles, just some resemblance of a haircut) and I honestly don't think he could of done it any better. I immediately sent a photo to my friend for appraisal. To which she replied "Ok.... It's not the worst I've ever seen and for a Chef, he's done okay." So he hadn't quite achieved the standard I thought he had, but if it's passable to me (and I'm a bit of a perfectionist), then I'm hoping it's passable to every other untrained eye. I hate to think what my Hairdresser will make of it, when we eventually meet again...
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