Now to explain a few things, Heidi is not just a hairdresser. She has become a sort of personal friend. My usual good looks are in her hands to keep them good and anything that happens to the growth on my head is her responsibility. I decided it was time for another visit as in a week I will be in Germany for my son’s wedding and what bridegrooms mother goes to a son’s wedding without a visit to the hairdresser. Today was one of the hottest days in the year and Mr. Swiss kindly offered to play chauffeur bringing me to the saloon and fetching me afterwards.
I entered the saloon and was greeted by “Hi Pat” and Heidi was waving her scissors in the air ready for the attack, although she already had one victim.
Another greeting was the cage at the entrance. Perhaps it was one of Heidi’s first customers, the one that didn’t get away, but he was as dead as a doornail, so no big problem. I just walked carefully around the cage. As you see Heidi and I share our humour, black and deadly.
“You have a wedding.” she said and continued “I have an idea, we will do something special.”
I immediately had visions of colourful highlights and a some glitter effects although Heidi assured me that nothing of the kind.
“I would like it short, but no too short.”
“No problem, my scissors are in action until the evening hours.” was the answer.
I took a seat and Heidi began to snip. It was a painless job and she was soon finished.
“I had an idea how do you like it?”
I actually liked it but it was something different. She assured me that the sides and back were short as usual, but left it a little longer on the top. I was convinced that Mr. Swiss would like it, as he has something against the usual short haircut that apparently all golden oldies have. I have tried to explain to him why, but he is convinced that his wife is not a golden oldie. Perhaps because he is a little more golden and older than me.
Anyhow after a few small adjustments to the front bits I paid my debt, but not before Heid helped me out with her iPad sorting out the trains to Germany. I already knew which way to go, but she also had a look. Just as I was thinking of leaving Mr. Swiss called to ask how I survived and would pick me up in a few minutes.
I left, but not without taking a photo of the dead bird as a souvenir. It was still dead when I left (ok it was a stuffed model of course). Yes my hairdresser is not only good at her job but has a unique sense of interior decoration in the saloon. She also happens to be a neighbour of mine, so we had a loose arrangement of a visit to our place accompanied with a glass of white wine, and who knows, she might even bring her scissors with her.
Oh, I nearly forgot, here is the result. Mr. Swiss took the photo when I arrived home and settled into my computer outside on the patio.