No matter how carefully I plan out what I want done before hand, the tomboy in me just gets totally intimidated as soon as I sit in the plush leather chair and have the weird bib thing put around my neck.
Seriously, I genuinely start sweating profusely. Sometimes I even shake. In fact, my fear of the hairdresser is so intense that I hold off as long as humanly possible. Once waiting two years before going in for a cut.
And it ends with me gesturing vaguely at my head being like...
'I kinda just...want you to like... y'know. Cut it???'
No matter how hard I try, it always comes out apologetic.
And then I feel obligated to agree with everything they do.
'Are these layers short enough?'
'Oh yes. Yes, yes. Of course'
'And your fringe? Is this okay?'
'Yes, yes, yes. All good thanks'
'The end result? Good? Yes?'
'OOOOHHHH YESSSSS. Thank you!!!!'
Because seriously... what am I going to say to the woman who has the next three months of my social standing held in the shiny scissors in her right hand?
'No! What are you THINKING? STOP! STOP NOW. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOPPPP!!!!!!'
Who's to say she's not going to get hugely offended and then start cutting big chunks out of my head? And to be honest. She's finished it now. What am I supposed to say. Sorry no? Fix it? I don't like it? When I gave her NO direction to start with?
The last time I went to get my hair cut I hated it so much I ended up going home and taking a pair of scissors to my own hair.
BIG MISTAKE.
It's taken about 3 months for my chopping extravaganza to grow itself out to the point where I can finally set it free from a bun and wear it out in public.
My most recent hairdresser disaster was when I decided to go to a hairdresser here in Wales and get my hair dip dyed. I wanted it to look like this.
It does not.
In fact. Not only does it not look like this at ALL and has been a total waste of my £35, SOMEHOW ( I noticed last night) my pubes have gone ginger. What the actual fuck?
Hair dressers.
Not. Even. Once.
