Thursday December 9th 2010 – Just like Samson... well almost.

I am very wobbly today. To make matters worse, I have an appointment. An appointment at the hairdresser’s is something I always dread. I suppose it does make my head look tidier, but I’m not sure that tidy is really very me.

I love short hair on other people, but on me, hair should be as long as possible. I had short hair as a child and haven’t ever really gotten over it. It only takes one blundering adult to humiliate and crush you, but I had it twice. Yes, due to my little elfin crop I was mistaken for a boy on two very public occasions. An elfin crop requires elfin features and I’m much better at working the Hagrid mop.

The second most horrifying thing about the hairdresser’s, is the mirrors. They are everywhere. How can a person take any pleasure from being stuck in front of a mirror for 3 hours, talking twaddle and being pulled at like a second-hand Girl’s World?

It’s just hideous. I hate mirrors and if I lived alone I wouldn’t allow one in the house. Hoobiz insists on them and after numerous negotiations we have settled for now on two, one in the bathroom and one in the loo.

At least the mirrors at home don’t come with a highly-flammable, scissor-wielding tube of foundation.  Today, I have decided that the worst thing about the hairdresser’s, is actually the Hairdresser.

Well, of course, a bit of pampering is supposed to make you feel special, isn’t it? Huh!

I admit that I am pretty unremarkable, but Bev has been cutting my hair for the last 4 years and she still doesn’t recognise me. I know this, because every 6 weeks we have almost exactly the same conversation.

Today’s started differently, only because it had a slightly festive flavour.

‘So, you all ready for Christmas, then?’ Bev asks.

‘Well, almost...’ I say hesitantly, ‘The thing is, I’ve been trying to postpone Christmas for as long as possible this year, as I’m going back to work next week and the two have sort of seemed intertwined for the past few months.’

‘Oh, right. You been on holiday then?’, says Bev.

‘No,’ I begin slowly, ’No, I’ve been on maternity leave.’

‘Did you have a baby? Aw bless you! You kept that quiet.’ Bev babbles excitedly.

No, not really, I’m thinking. No. No, I pretty much shouted it from the roof tops.

Instead, I smile and say,’ Yes, a little boy. I mean, that part is really exciting; his first Christmas. Then we’ve got his first Birthday on New Year’s Day. Crazy!’

‘Oh! lovely! How old is he then?’ asks Bev.

At this point I just sort of grunt, ‘...coming up for year.’ I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me, but don’t bother asking me anything if you are not going to listen. I want to make it very clear that Bev is not stupid. I would forgive anyone reading the above to draw that conclusion, but no. Bev is a very bright young person, who just can’t be arsed to listen.

I sat quietly, reading my magazine and hoping that it was possible to manage another hour and 45 minutes without the torturous conversation. Shame really, as I love a good chat and can witter on about anything for hours. Well, just as long as I don’t have to keep repeating myself.

Yet Bev wants to give it another go, ‘So how many days a week are you going back?’

Oh no! Please not this one. ‘I’m going back full-time.’

‘Full-time? Full-time? Not part-time?’ Bev shrieks. It’s as if I have just announced that my bottom has fallen off.

Oh help! The Rage is rising fast... I can hold it...I... can hold it. I’m longing to yank out her flossy extensions and scream,’ Yes, fulltime you terracotta-rendered nitwit! Full-time! Fulltime! It’s not by choice you vapid gargoyle! Even if it was, how dare you judge me Plop-head?

What I do say is very calm, ‘Yes, that’s right, full-time. You know, 5 days.’

Inside, I’m seething, but it forces me to make an immediate decision. I decided that I’m not going back there. No, a little early Christmas present just for me. In the New Year, I shall find a place where they at least pretend to remember me.