Hair We Go Again

I dread this time.. when the grey starts to sneak out like a guilty teen, when the ends split wider than a porn star’s vagina, and when the frizz gets wilder than an addict at a festival.

What does it mean?

I have to make my way back to the dreaded chair: the HairMesser’s chair.

It’s more common than you think. For every time you see a pretty lady all dolled up with gorgeous locks, know that behind that success there were at least a dozen mishaps with hair dressers when she left the salon looking like raccoons tried to mate with her ideas.

There are just too many awkward facts about going to the hairdresser. Go to a venue once and if you exchange mild pleasantries with one hair dude, you are more bound to him than your husband in matrimony. Heaven forbid you ever dream of trying another guy he works with, whence you are met with the same judgement as trying to convince your husband to let you fuck his best friend.

You have the talkers, whom I just cant keep up with. I mean, when I get to that chair, I just wanna lay back and let the pampering begin. Instead, I’m often faced with a person who wants to talk about politics, the weather, the folly of married life, etc. and this is all fine and dandy, but come my twentieth visit, I have just as much fun faking the enjoyment as I do at 5 am.

The straight ones come with their own drama. You can’t be too friendly otherwise he’ll try to penetrate your ear when you are not paying attention, and contrary to what he might try to convince you of, this will not help with your migraines at all.

Now on to the actual hair. I don’t know what training they give these “artists” but its definitely not on hair. Its sad but most of them will completely forget about what your hair actually needs and try to push the most expensive treatment down your…scalp.

I have very dry hair- chalk it up to years of vacillating between Madonna blonde and Snow White black. Point is that what’s left of the locks are pretty damned fragile and instead of respecting that, every bozo with a hair blower tries to convince me that a 6 hour treatment with BOTOX or chemicals they use to preserve corpses will do wonders for my look. It’s as criminal as visiting your GP and having him recommend a kidney removal because you’ll drop that 0.3 KG that’s bugging you.

Women have to bear with a lot of bad hair before they find the right dresser or routine that will keep most threads on their heads. And while its nice to look at a well put together maiden with each strand in its respectable place, try to afford the poor specimen some sympathy if you spot a gal with way too much frizz and jungle fever going on. After all, she could have just been fending off ear-intercourse.