I had my hair cut on Saturday.
I go to a place in Worcester out of habit. Soph and I used to live in a flat almost directly above this place. We now live miles out of the city but I still go there.
I like the ambience. It’s light, airy, modern and they play cool music. I’m trying to get them to play my podcast playlist because I think it would fit.
I like the Latte they give me and I like the staff. The girls are all a bit plastic, cast from the same mould, wear the same styles and do similar things with their hair, but it’s better than a lot of places where I’ve been in the past.
I like the guy who manages the place, we have a laugh and a chat about music and bands and guitars (he fancies himself as an axe-man but I’m way better than he is), but I think we only have that conversation because it’s all he and I have in common – but it is better than nothing.
I love the head-massages I get there. They are tremendously relaxing and erotic; usually leave me having to limp from basin to cutting chair with a massive erection sticking out of my ‘cape’.
I don’t like the ‘cape’ they make everyone wear, it’s very girly. Yeah, I know it’s a girly hairdresser but still.
I really don’t like chatting. Sometimes. There are times, like yesterday, when I don’t want to talk to anyone. I especially don’t want to sit trapped in a chair for 45 minutes exchanging meaningless banter with someone. A very nice someone, but someone who wouldn’t be in my top 100 people in my life list.
So I lied and I’m sorry.
When she asked me what I’d be doing today, if I was going to spend a lot of time with the horses (bless her, she still hasn’t remembered that I had to have Beech put to sleep last year, but at least she looks at me and thinks: horses) I replied that a member of my family has just been diagnosed with a near terminal illness and I’d be dealing with that.
It had the desired effect, but I’m sorry I lied to get you to shut up and stop trying to get me to talk. And besides – conceptually speaking – it wasn’t too far from the truth, not really.
But she did a great job and even this morning my hair looks very smart. So thanks. But I’m sorry.
B.
No more hair saloon for me. I’ve hired a hair dresser who comes home. No more wasting time in a place where I have to seat for at least 30 minutes and hear all the typical empty talks there. Plus, she’s the best hair dresser I’ve ever had and she’s cheap.
Okay I recently had to go to a local hair saloon because my hair dresser is on holidays but that was exception and I managed to go at a time when it was not crowdy so I came in, got it cut, paid, and left.
Yay
Sorry but I had to laugh at your almost lie. I couldn’t help figuring out her face with an open mouth.
I bought a pair of Wahl clippers from Argos, when I first met the current Mrs Masher 17 years ago. Haven’t paid for a haircut since.
Mrs M is in no way a trained hairdresser, but as I sport a cut from the seventies, modelled on Bodie from The Professionals, it’s not too difficult for her to do.
Ooo, you should tell lies like that. I once told a boss that I couldn’t go to work that day because a mate of mine from the Gold Coast broke his leg in an accident, and I had to go see him. I wanted the day off to go to the coast with my then boyf. Two weeks later, my mate ACTUALLY broke his leg!