Goddammit I've been boiling about this for months now, and I've decided to vent my spleen about it. I had my hair cut last night. It was at least a week overdue - I was tripping over small children and having to wring my fringe out after drinking a cup of tea it was so overdue, so I was really looking forward to being shorn. But I never know what I'm gonna get...
Sometimes I'm lucky and I'm allocated a little trainee - complete with a tattoo and nose ring of course - who sidles up to me and inspires no confidence whatsoever - but man can she massage a scalp! After a day of looking after one business, one husband, one house, the laundry, the shopping, two children, one set of homework, umpteen pishy pooey nappies, three lunches for tomorrow and general housework, I tend to look forward to a good head massage - it's the only sleep I get these days!
But no! Last night was not to be, and it hasn't been for a while now - I got Laura. Laura The Destroyer. Oh my poor scalp. I've encountered Laura before, and my heart sank and my neck vertebra quivered when I saw who was on duty, and for good reason. As I sat back against the basin I silently wished my hair follicles a fond farewell - not such a fond farewell for the grey up risers amongst them - but you get the picture! And off she went, scrubbing my head for all she was worth. What the hell was she trying to achieve? Carry on like that for long there'll be nothing left to cut woman. It was simply beyond invigorating and relaxing was a proposition too far! And then came the "massage", which on Planet Laura involves pressing down so hard on her finger tips that she actually pushes my fully grown adult head into my neck - I was being pushed off the seat at one point and had to hold on to the arm rests for fear of scooting across the floor. Her biceps were bulging and sweat was pouring from her forehead, but on and on she "massaged" - she was relentless. All I kept thinking about was the £38 I'd recently spent on an osteopath to realign my cranium, and how I may as well have just given the money to Laura so she'd stop! This went on for two shampoos and a slavering of conditioner - oh how the hours ticked by like days. But it ended eventually and I was released into the stylist's chair - the same stylist who I believe to be surreptitiously growing my hair - she denies this, but I know this to be true.
Like so much in life, Laura must learn that power is nothing with control.
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