Thursday, 5 June 2014

Hairdresser Horror!

It happens most times, not every time, but most times.

It's at that point where I'm sitting in the chair, colour *cough* is in the hair and I look like an oil slicked chicken, hair sticking out at angles every which way. That's when it happens.

I get the flashback.

Once upon a time I was having my hair coloured for the first time...oh yes, it was a big moment. 
I had just settled into the chair, my hair having been coated in colour which later would emerge the colour of an orange...yes, don't ask- it was supposed to have been a deep red.

I was taking deep breaths to calm my nerves and had a lovely latte and chocolate biscuit in front of me. I picked up my book (no tablets at that point) and engrossed myself in my reading.

The noise filtered through my ears into my conscious mind incredibly slowly. I was in a daze really when the voice of my hairdresser became clear:

"We need to leave"
"Huh?" I asked
"It's the fire alarm, we need to leave" I raised my fearful eyes to the mirror infront of me and froze with terror
"Are you joking me?" I stared in disbelief

Now, in my mind there is an unwritten rule that women having their hair coloured (cap on, foils in or just plain retouching) should not be exposed to any living person at that time other that the people in the hairdressers. FACT.

I gingerly stood from my chair and slowly followed her outside, keeping my eyes firmly fixed to the ground. Not daring to make any form of eye contact with anybody, I just knew they would be looking with sorrow at this human oil slicked chicken.

It was at that point, when my eyes were trained on a spot of trodden down chewy, when a bare foot passes my line of vision.

I did a double take, and raised my eyes. I then realised that I was not, by any means in the worst position. 

You see, I was a member at a health club, where I also had my beauty treatment. The health club had a pool. Yes, you've got it. As I raised my now bright orange barnet up to look around me, I was the only person dressed in a slightly civilised manner. The other 60+ were not only in yoga wear, but swim wear.

Yes, swim wear. I'm talking bikinis, cossies and trunks. A couple of older ladies sporting their plastic flower swim hats. Dripping wet. No time for towels.

I stemmed my laughter and bit my tongue so hard I drew blood!

As for my bright orange mop? I no longer frequent the salon!