An Unwholesome Ingredient

When the hair off your head becomes a regular ingredient in the meals you cook, you really need to reconsider your 'look'.

Twice this week, I've fed Stu strands of long curly brown hair. Although it appears not to bother him, it would certainly be enough to turn me off eating. (Perhaps this is why he's been losing weight?)

Anyway, for the last week, I've been entertaining ideas that involve scissors. I've sent cries of help to my younger sister which have been met by silence. I've tried to resist but I've been getting increasingly desperate and in the wee small hours of last night I made The Decision.

When I dived out of bed this morning, I went straight to the mirror just to be sure that my 'look' wasn't worth saving. It wasn't. It definitely wasn't.

An hour later, Stu and I were in the car on a desperate mission to find a parrucchiere.

Half an hour later we'd found the perfect one: a salon that didn't require appointments!

Anyone who knows me will know that this is the stuff of dreams for me. When it comes to beauty I have a complete and utter inability to plan. Being a woman of little vanity, ugliness tends to creep up and surprise me. Going to the hairdresser is a decision that is made quickly and must occur immediately.

There were already 2 women in the salon. One had thick grey colouring cream in her long hair which made it look horribly matted. The other was sitting at the washing basins, her wet hair wrapped in a towel.

The hairdresser told me there would be a wait.

I pretended that I didn't have much time but my act only lasted 2 seconds. I was desperate.

So I sat down and waited.

Stu went to the cafe for a cappuccio.

He returned an hour later.

I was still waiting. The other ladies had progressed slightly. One was having her hair dried. The other was waiting for her colour to take.

Stu went to the supermarket to buy hot chocolate mix and a toilet plunger (don't ask...)

He returned an hour later.

Mere seconds before his arrival, I'd been promoted to the wash basins. I was proudly in position. One lady had paid and left. The other lady was getting her hair dried. A new lady waited.

Stu sat on a bench outside the shop. I watched him unwrap a chocolate bar and eat it. I gestured for him to give me some but I was to remain chocolate-less.

Half an hour later, I'd had my hair cut. More specifically, I'd been shaved.

Oh, but what joy!

Of course, I now have a cold head and a cold neck...but I can only hope that my new 'look' will arrest Stu's slide into anorexia...