Getting That Hurr Did
It always slightly surprises me that we women are willing to pay for a service that has the power to make you feel robbed, emotionally drained, and maybe looking worse than when you went in. However, sometimes your hair gets so long people start enquiring what it’s like to be a Mormon Fundamentalist, and you run out of options.
Plus, the long hair was starting to give me recurrent nightmares where I choke to death on my own deadly mop. Choking’s only sensible when you have a safe word you can deploy. Like ‘scissors’.
Also I start the new job this week, and I want to look profesh. I can’t be going in there looking like some straggly-haired, apathetic hippy. I like to give them a few weeks before they realise.
Going to the salon wasn’t all that bad. I sat in there reading Bukowski’s Ham on Rye and they brought me coffee and asked me the regulation question about my holidays. I wonder what they ask you about if it turns out you never go on any holidays and are against them on principle. Probably this makes them very mad.
So here’s the ‘Barbarian Warrior Queen’ before the ritual shearing:
My spear was at the blacksmith’s that day.
And here’s the ‘Nine-to-Five Cubicle Warrior’ hair the day after.
