hair 4 June 2008
I have only ever truly had one ambition in life – that is (was?) to be a hairdresser. When I was a kid my mum used to go to a large, fully kitted-out room of a nearby house to get her hair done and I thought it was unbearably glamorous. Since then I have loved the whole circumstance around people wanting to give themselves a ‘lift’ and the hairdresser is one of the places where you can do that – it’s something for yourself.
NOW.
The Husband is An Baldy Bloke and actually spends more on his haircuts than I do, I suspect. When he was in Ukraine he got a shaver thingy to do the trick and now I am having to administer the shaving action of same. The results, I must tell you, are fantastic and I am GOOD at the job* but I find it ever so slightly weird, actually, and I am still not sure why. Is it the sheer shearing of a close ally and mate? Or what?
Dunno.
*blowing my own trumpet, but you just never know who out there needs me as their stylist/apprentice
The G was ON ME all day since I arrived home for my brief visit – the LURV in the air was palpable (via the purring).
Her breath is smelly…like she cares? and now I stink…like she cares?
The dog on set (Spot, the Dalmation) had smelly breath too, yesterday…like she (Spot) cared. And, hey, that was Uxbridge and Geezee (Dublin) don’t care ‘bout that either.
All is well (still)
