That time of year again

I need a hair cut. Last time I got my hair cut was in August. Only because I was going to a christening and I thought I should look half decent. (Looking back at the photos I look more like a chubby splodge, but never mind). Now, I died my hair a while back and it could really benefit from a cut. The bottom is a funny colour, not funny as in bright pink, but just lighter than the rest near the top, and it looks odd. Not everyone notices, but I do, so it bothers me. Only it doesn’t bother me to the point where I actually, physically, drag myself to a salon.

Let’s get this out of the way. I positively hate having my hair cut. Everything about it makes me cringe and feel uncomfortable. From the moment you arrive and someone helps you put that funny black gown on. Awkward. From the moment the person washing your hair asks you when was the last time you washed it. Eurgh, does it look that bad?! From the moment you put your head down and remember that it is officially the worse position ever. Is the water warm/ cold enough? Forget that, how about having my head in a really painful position which even the most nimble fingers and pleasant head massage will not let me forget??!!! Then you sit down and go through what it is that you want. I don’t know what I want, isn’t it obvious? Would I really have the most boring hair cut in history if I knew what I wanted? Every time I hope someone will look at my face, and suggest something that would suit me and my hair type. Why do you even bother asking me whether I want my hair straightened, have you not seen how thin it is, how little hair I actually have??

But I’m jumping ahead of myself here. Back to the hair cut. This used to be dreadful in the pre-contact lenses days. Glasses on to have a look in the mirror, glasses off for the cut. Being left in a world of complete fuzz, not knowing where to focus (my eyesight is very very bad). And when I was a kid, apparently I used to have this tendency to very slightly dip my head to one side, which would cause my mum endless aggro, having to send me back to the hairdressers a couple of times to straighten me out. But now I’m all grown up and you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve learned how to keep my head straight. And contact lenses have been a life saver in more ways than one (swimming pool anyone?!). Anyway, so here we go, it won’t be a surprise to anyone (well it might, but you don’t have to say) I’m not exactly a fashionable person as such, I don’t really care about fashion and I like to wear what I like, clothes that I feel comfortable in etc etc. Which means that I stand out like a sore thumb in a salon. All those overly made up women and men, with the most intricate of hair cuts, more make up than I wear over the course of a whole year, funny clothes. Oh goodness how I feel out of place.

Everything about the place makes me feel rubbish. I feel uncomfortable, both physically (from the hair wash) and mentally. The light makes me look a really odd colour and doesn’t add to me feeling cute or remotely attractive. My facial features do no bear well from having thin wet hair plastered to the sides. Gross. And the typical chit-chat makes me die a little inside. I was once asked what I was planning for the weekend. I said I was going to a book festival in Oxford. She was off with some girlfriends to Ibiza. End of conversation.

So do you feel my pain? I need to go back but still haven’t found a salon where I feel comfortable enough to be me. Oh goodness, what I wouldn’t give to be a bloke sometimes. A number 2 would do me just fine.