It’s been cold – marrow chillingly cold and wet, wet wet. So I have hardly ventured out. True abut the weather, but my reason for not venturing out isn’t the weather – oh no. I mean here in the Western Cape the weather is never that bad, like the Canadian outback or the Arctic – it’s just chilly. The reason for staying in? Well, my hair!
I have never had an obsessed with my hair before, but ten days ago I had a haircut. Now my hairdresser, Philip, is normally very good with hair, but I must have struck him on a bad day, or something. Well, this time he didn’t ask what I wanted it, but set to with scissors and a blast of invective about how the school system was failing a young man whom he is supporting. This young man is struggling to get to matric, and now at 18 is three years away from that step. (I don’t hold out much hope for him). Granted he is struggling against all odds with parents who aren’t supportive and ill-educated themselves. So Philip, my ‘Man Hairday’ is trying his best to help, footing all the bills associated with schooling as well.
However, to get back to my hair. Here Philip was, hacking away with his scissors and getting more and more agitated. To be honest I suppose I should have stopped him, but you see without my glasses I can’t see an elephant at close range so I wasn’t sure what was going on, and anyway I trust Philip implicitly. So I sat there a captive audience, just pleased that my hair was being cut, and watching out for my ears.
It was only when he had finished, and with a flourish unwrapped me from the voluminous .cape, asked me for the prescribed fee and I paid up, that I felt a little colder than normal… As I was leaving he said, “I haven’t shown you the back.”
Well, I was in a hurry and said airly, “Never mind, I am sure it will be fine.” and swept out of the salon without even a glance in the mirror.
Ah ha! I should have known after the first funny glance I got as I trekked up the hill on my way home that something was amiss. At home I settled down to normal chores and thought no more about things. Strangely enough John never gives me a second look these day (Not so strange you think after forty or more years of marriage? – I suppose). He didn’t seem to notice anything.
Only that evening when disrobing to go to bed I suddenly noticed my HAIR – or lack of it. I had a boy’s haircut – SHORT BACK AND SIDES. Oh my, oh me. I shrieked! And that got John running.
“What’s the matter!”
“Your hair?” He looked at me with his new ‘shop’ eyes (he’s recently had a cataract op so sees well enough) “It’s a little short isn’t it,” was all he said.
“SHORT! I’M BALD!”
Well, that was ten days ago. And the bad news is it hasn’t grown a half millimetre in this time. I’ve taken to wearing a beanie permanently, firstly because my head was cold, and then secondly because the short hair is now standing up in spikes all around my head like a halo and I am no angel, everybody knows that . Suddenly I know what it is like to have a bad hair day – and make that a bad hair fortnight!
You have got to believe me, I’m scared this hair is never going to grow again and that I will go to my grave wearing a beanie.
Trouble is, I now need to invest in a whole range of beanies in various colours to allow for a matching one for each outfit; a change, so that the said beanie can be washed, etc, etc, etc. I wonder if Philip knows what stress he’s putting me through!
So if you come visiting and I don’t answer the door, please remember I am not fit for human consumption – you may just gag on the beanie and choke on the sight of me with no hair. No pictures please!