The time had come and there was no return. After patiently growing my hair over the last five years to a respectable length I decided to put a stop to the growth. The bathroom floor was also grateful for this decision. Washing my hair during the week was becoming a task that I was no longer fun. It took about 15 minutes of my time up in the morning before going to work and collecting the hairy details afterwards was no longer my idea of an enjoyable pastime before going to work, so I decided enough was enough.
The whole operation had to be carefully planned. On Monday I called the hairdresser for an appointment. I explained I was a working woman and had no time during the week for the operation. I was offered an appointment at 08.00 on Saturday morning but asked if there was something free during the day. I had visions of crawling out of bed on Saturday morning only a bit later than during the week and falling asleep whilst my hair was being cut. Eventually we managed to arrange a sensible time of 02.15 in the afternoon.
Eventually Saturday arrived and after my usual cleaning up session at home and visit to the local shops with my other half I returned home for cooking lunch. During the week my son had called to arrange a lunchtime appointment at Hotel Mama so I had an extra guest to dinner. I see my son about once a month, sometimes more, but nevertheless I told him it would be a short sighting of myself as I was going to the hairdressers. I was expecting words of astonishment or even critic, but nothing like this. I then noticed my son didn’t mind if I was walking around with a hairstyle like Bridget Bardot in her younger days, or even a punk style – he was getting a home cooked dinner. My husband was at home all afternoon so I just left them to their man talk (about sport, cars, and even books, and the latest news etc. etc.).
I decided to make the way into town as a pedestrian – the doctor once told me I should get more exercise (I think that was after I was under treatment for “blogger’s arm”). On the way to town I naturally took a few photos and arrived for my appointment five minutes too early. As my hairdresser was busy cutting the hair of a man (the things you see in a lady’s hairdressers these days) I had to wait until she was finished. In the meanwhile I was offered a magazine to read, but quite honestly I was more interested in what was going on around me. I noticed that nobody was really interested in having their hair cut short, more styling and colouring was going on, with a bit of wax here and gel there to finish the process. How lucky I was, I had my own built in highlights.
My hairdresser washed my hair thoroughly, although I wondered why as most of it was being cut off in any case. We then had a scientific discussion about what I wanted. I told her short and not to worry or get a guilty conscience about cutting off my long grey locks (with their split ends) – just go ahead. The hairdresser gave me a sort of a strange look (probably thinking a crazy grandmother) took the scissors in her hand and started cutting. When she was about half way through I noticed she had left the hair on top on the long side. I then told her to take her courage in her hands and cut, cut and cut. She said something about perhaps leaving it a bit longer on top. I told her to forget it (in a polite way) and her eyes suddenly lit up as she realised the purpose of her hairdressing life was sitting in front of her. She then went ahead and finished the job. To cut a long story short (she trimmed the cut for about 30 minutes) she did what I wanted and I was satisfied.
She then spent five minutes brushing the cuttings off the protective overall I had been given to wear during the operation. The next step was sweeping the hair away which was a lot. They have flaps built into the wall and the hair is swept under the flaps. I should think a few kilo of hair come together during the day. I eventually left the hairdresser, eighty Swiss Francs lighter, but it was worth it. Unfortunately I met no fans of mine on the way home to be astonished by my new look, although my husband found it made me look younger.
I went to work this morning and had to laugh. As I walked passed a window of one of the departments almost completely populated by men, they were all having a business talk on the day’s planning in the middle of the department. One saw me and turned round to look, then the other five followed and made a polite “good morning” greeting to me. Now I am sure that would not have happened if I still had my longer hair – or???
Actually I was not always grey, and even had very long hair when I was sweet 16
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