I only go to the hairdresser when two factors are simultaneously in alignment. To be fair, it’s a rare occurrence. They are as follows:
1) The bank account is in the black, and
2) My dear husband remarks that my hair is looking a little ‘tired’. This is dangerous territory for any man, however this one’s no fool and would only ever pass comment when a) the hair situation is on the brink of becoming dire, b) there is a door between us and c) I am not hormonal.
However, in the knowledge that there have been no options/hairdressers open to us, he has wisely kept his counsel of late. However even I am aware that the benchmark of ‘dire’ had been passed even before we went into lockdown.
So, I tentatively asked him if he’d like to cut my hair. Nothing difficult, just a good inch or two into a neat bob.
Within almost undignified speed, I was whisked into the bathroom and plonked unceremoniously on a kitchen stool by my husband who alongside a look of utter jubilation, had adopted a rather dubious French accent.
“Just don’t bother ask me about my summer vacation plans” I twittered nervously as I watched him don the sharpest pair of kitchen scissors. Oh dear God, those two glinting blades, so close to my ears of which I was suddenly rather sentimental, and more importantly, my jugular. I did hope he was planning on wearing his glasses.
Standing behind me, he took my head between his hands and as I glanced at him in the mirror, his face took on a look of total concentration, and then, he silently got to work.
An hour later and a perfectly sleek blonde bob hung neatly just below my still intact ears. As to who was more delighted, I’m not entirely sure. But one thing is for certain, should he ever need a new career I think he’d make the most fabulous dog groomer, sheep shearer or possibly even a hairdresser …
K x
Ps.. As a matter of interest, if you could have a totally different career, how would it differ from what you currently do? Or are you perfectly happy 😊
How I Killed Betty! 