23 June 2006

Part of my identity was sheared off, swept up and thrown in the bin.

Today I walked past my local hairdressers and the girl was outside smoking a fag. Since I was too, I took this to be a sign and decided I needed a trim. I explained how I needed a slightly tidier, messy cut and stressed that I was not into short fringes.
So we got talking about how nice the village/area was, when we were kids. Then we started talking about how kids today, don't seem to go off and swim in the river or camp out by Cuddesdon Mill any more.
The next thing I remember, I was staring in the mirror at a short fringe, hanging like a thick, shrunken curtain, resting above my eyebrows. The rest of my hair was still quite long- like a German footballer from the late eighties.
"Oowh, I think I've cut too much off the fringe" she said.
I couldn't leave looking like that, so I said something like "Errm, you will have to cut the rest of the hair short now, to balance the front."
I could feel her fingers begining to shake as she tried to rescue her art/pride/business. And so it continued, like a slightly drunk person sawing bits off each leg in turn, from a dining table, and ending up with a coffee table which still isn't level.
I have to be fair, the end result wasn't too bad as short hair cuts go. My Dad loved it and my girlfriend pretended to.
I think I look like a German footballer from early spring 2004.

1 comments:

Kate said...

I sympathize. I HATE having my hair cut. I even remember having nightmares about it as a kid. In one very vivid dream, I had my hair cut and walked out into the street and a boy from my class (yep, the cutest) was looking down at me from the roof's building and he FELL OFF laughing and (in addition to falling 10 dream storeys) got run over by a car.

I get a bit crazy when I get my hair cut and my innate control freak rears her ugly head and I sort of shut down. I find that hairdressers almost never really listen, but sort of try to bully you into something that's even worse than the bad thing you are contemplating.

The last time I got my hair cut, the woman at the counter where I paid guilt-tripped me into letting someone pluck my eyebrows. WHO DOES THIS AND WHY? It was so painful.

So, all in all, I am a post-hippy not hippie and send you my heartfelt sympathies for your new hair cut.

As I remind myself: it grows back.

Kate