Getting my hair cut used to be an absolute ordeal, but finding a hairdresser you trust is one of life’s great pleasures. Especially one you can enjoy a glass of wine with.
Over the years I’ve had my fair share of hairtastrophes, namely:
- when a hairdresser cut into my ear rather my hair (ears bleed more than you think they would)
- when a hairdresser gives you chemical burns and your fringe falls out
- when you ask for an inch off and they give you a pixie crop
- when a perm took so long I had to leave the salon with my hair dripping wet and still toxic to make the ferry home from university
Thus, when I find a hairdresser who makes me look great and feel fabulous, who’s had me in tears of laughter and who I trust enough to say, “do what you want” – that’s someone I’ll share a glass of wine with. Lately this has been mid appointment, although she waits until all the chemicals have been washed out and the cutting is complete before quaffing along with me.
One of life’s guilty pleasures – you bet. But I leave with a smile and a swagger (minus the bobble hat) looking my best.
Last week ended reasonably calmly after all – I even managed to fit in three consecutive workouts – an absolute first. Although it did mean I felt every one of my 41 years by Friday night. How I miss the energy of my misspent youth!
Yesterday I finally managed to go to my long awaited hair appointment where my lovely hairdresser transformed me as always into an improved version of me – if somewhat neater than usual – and with some flame red attitude. Less librarian, more Florence and The Machine.
I’ve returned the inappropriately youthful clothing and have a lovely pair of boots on order instead – what can I say, you can never have too many pairs of boots – especially ones you could walk a few miles in.
I’m also looking forward to a visit from my parents who are south of the border from Wednesday through Saturday. Our family is scattered around quite a bit so it’s lovely to spend time together however infrequent it is. Let’s hope I can keep up with them – they could put an Olympic Athlete to shame at times.
And so I’m entering into next week full of my usual optimism and devil may care attitude. Wonder if I’ll make it to 10am Monday with that optimism intact?