What an utter disaster. I hate going to the hairdresser's. Absolutely hate it. The embarrassing conversation, the condescending criticism I receive when I admit I haven't had my hair cut for six months, the powerlessness of being at someone else's mercy - someone with scissors. Anyway, having avoided it for far longer than six months I had been thinking I should at least start thinking about considering maybe making an appointment. Then yesterday, hungover as can be (should I be that hungover from a two year old's birthday party? And, if not, should I be allowed to go to two year olds' birthday parties?)I thought 'what the heck' (yes, I was so hungover I was thinking thoughts in the style of American child stars of the fifties) 'I'm going to get my haircut right now'. Ordinarily I pay quite a lot to have my hair cut at a good salon where I ask for a ridiculously simple cut and they try to persuade me to challenge them and I have to reassure them that I want a boring cut - I just want the reassurance that comes with excess spending (not that I say that bit). So, I thought, this situation is ridiculous, if I just want something basic why not go to a basic hairdresser. Why not go to a hairdresser where you can just walk straight in and get it done. This is why I ended up in Supercuts.
I had no idea that they charge you by the length of your hair. How insanely ridiculous. The woman on reception asked me to untie my hair so she could see how long it was and 'quoted' me £32 to cut it. Barely less than I would normally pay to have it done. But stupidly I was too embarrassed to say that that was too much for somewhere with such crappy ambiance and ripped magazines so I just said 'fine'. Then I sat and I smarted and, when she said 'is this about the length you want it?' gesturing with her fingers behind me such that I actually had no idea where they were, I just said 'maybe a bit shorter?' still having no idea where that would be. There followed a liberating fifteen minutes of thinking 'this is amazing! For the first time in my life I am sitting in a hairdresser's and I don't give a shit! She can do what she wants and I really don't care!' Then shortly afterwards: 'fuck, that's not right'.
So now I look like a cross between Peppermint Patty and the boy out of Dazed and Confused. I saw Becca today and she kindly commented 'you look very French!' Sadly she meant in the 'school exchange circa 1989' sense.
