Because of this, I only go about once a year. (Also, it's expensive).
Yesterday evening I had my yearly haircut. Now, I'm not keen on people touching me. I say 'not keen,' I mean 'venomously dislike.' I especially don't like people touching my head, so this is why hairdressers are a problem for me. In my salon, they offer a complimentary head massage. This is like torture. I always, always say no, but sometimes they don't give you the option, they just do it and you sit there, cringing, your skin crawling, beads of sweat popping on your forehead, while some woman is probing your scalp. Unpleasant.
Anyway, luckily, this time I was asked so I said NO BLEEDING WAY, MATE. Or words to that effect.
I never say yes to the free tea either. And I love tea and I love free stuff but I can't say yes to this. How do you drink it? How can you reach for your tea, when there's someone with scissors very close to your eyeball? Also, I don't like hairy tea.
I dislike other people washing my hair. Firstly, why do they wash your hair? My hair's clean, I cleaned it myself, but they wash it anyway. They could use a squirty bottle and spray it if they need it wet for cutting but nope, they like to torment you. They must think that we're dirty. So your head gets wrenched over the sink - which is made of rock and blades - and you sever the nerves in your neck. I read a story about a woman who had her hair washed at a hair salon, then died because they damaged her neck. I can't help but think of that every time. Plus they get water in your ears and I can't be doing with water in my ears.
So, I go into the salon and there's a young lad there and I'm weirdly put off even more just by the fact he's male and I really don't want him touching my head. I mean, what's that about? My doctor's male.
Anyway, apart from causing mass amounts of immense pain to my neck, the lad was actually all right and I had an actual conversation with him (which I never do with the girls cos they talk nonsense). We're chatting away about tattoos and rollerblades and free food, my brain's telling me that any second my neck's gonna snap and my head's gonna roll around in the sink, and I suddenly realise that he's managed not to get water in my ears. Awesome.
So I then go over to sit in front of the giant mirror and I'm left there, staring at my own reflection which again, I dislike very much. Both my reflection and the fact I'm plonked in front of it.
Then the hairdresser comes over and she asks what I want done and I say just cut a couple of inches off. She asks me how I want it styled.
She sees my confusion and asks if I want it blow dried and straightened and when I hesitate, she says 'go on, you're at a hairdresser's' so I agree.
She then starts cutting my hair and I'm sitting there trying not to stare at my own face or think about what she might be seeing on my head. I'm self-conscious, I suppose. I always think they'll be disgusted by my head, even though I haven't actually got a gross head or anything. She's talking about hair and styles and holidays and 'How long have you had your fringe?' Me: 'I was born with it.' (All right, my real answer was: 'Forever.') And she asks me how I style it and I say I do nothing to it, and she asks if I straighten it and again I say I do nothing and she asks if I put it up and by now, because I'm starting to feel like a Neanderthal, I just say 'oh yeah, I pin it back.' (Which is lies, all lies.)
Hairdressers are all so much prettier and female than me, I dread to think what they must think of me. I go in there like a yeti. I am unable to talk about babies and boobies and boyfriends.
Do you want a serum on your hair?
Um. I guess.
What is the condition of your hair?
Erm... sort of... hair like.
How would you like the layers done?
Ooh uh... like a cake?
How shall I cut your fringe?
With scissors, please.
Pure torture. They always give you a loyalty card so you can get £10 off every few visits. I took out my loyalty card and she threw it away because it was dated 2011.
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