Hairdresser Adventures

A visit to the hairdresser or beautician can be a little daunting at the best of times but when you can't speak the same language, all you can do is hope for the best. Lucky for me I grow hair very fast, very dark and very thickly.

Visit to the Hairdresser - I have a young male hairdresser, who rocks up 10 minutes late looking like he has just crawled out of bed, its usually 1 o'clock, as this is the earliest appointment you can make. He waves to me from outside while he has a smoke and talks or texts on his phone. He swans in checks himself out in the mirror, puts on his aftershave, plugs in his phone, runs his fingers thru his hair all the while kissing every lady in the place and shaking every mans hand. My turn, yahoo. I have had the same haircut and colour since arriving usually very good. Colour on, colour off, cut time. I read a magazine or book during my appointment as it seems very strange to just sit there looking in the mirror not communicating. I only glance at the mirror once or twice, my hairdresser known to me as becho ( which means boy) cuts away and don't get me wrong he does a lovely cut, usually. But this particular time with already half my head cut, he asks in his little English "did you want short or very short today". As I look up, in my head im saying well its too $?@&$?0 late now isn't it, but instead in my new slow, shortened speak I say "its ok" all the while thinking how did my pixie hair cut go from making me look like a dark version of Michelle Williams to a Lesbian Biker Chick, no offence to the Lesbain Biker Chicks reading my blog but it just wasn't the look I was going for. I say my thank yous and goodbyes in Georgian and go meet my friend for lunch. "Oh it's lovely", she says "it really suits you", as she hands me her hairdressers card.