Suzanne went to a nearby hair salon last week, presumably for some work on her hair, can’t say that I noticed the difference although I did of course say how nice it looked when she came home – jesus wept you don’t think I’d be able to type this if I didn’t do you?
She was gone at least three hours, three hours worth of work on your hair and if I didn’t already know thats where she’d gone then I wouldn’t have noticed – if I worked from a traditional office instead of from home then I’d never have known and I’d still be taking my food in liquid form through a straw for not commenting on the hair-do.
I daren’t ask how much it cost, that really is worth more than my life to ask.
My daughters are the same, they spend a kings ransom on beauty products and hairdressing, Amanda even sells hair extensions at her college-funding job, real professional hair extensions that cost another kings ransom to buy, its fairly commonplace for me to walk into any room in this house and find someone elses hair just lying around on the floor or a chair, I’ve thrown hundreds of pounds worth of hair extensions in the bin before now in the belief that it must be broken if its not attached to the head, except now of course I realise that you can take it off and put it back on again, in short its a wig by any other name.
“Who’s syrup is this ?” I’ll shout up the stairs holding aloft a fine head of hair like an executioner at the Tower of London and if they are not looking or if they are not home (you’re never sure who is in and who is out in this house any more) then I’ll stand in front of the hall mirror and drape it over my own not-finely-coiffured-anymore head, recalling the days from forty years ago when hair actually grew on my head to such lengths as these wigs provide for.
And as I keep reminding the women of this household, my annual hair cutting bill has remained static for years now, static at the figure of zero cost, it cost nothing at all to keep this head of no hair in order.
OK I tell a small lie, I need to buy a new electric trimmer every two or three years, I bought one last year, £18 it cost, £18 for several years of hairdressing – read it and weep ladies.
The hair on my head still grows, unbelievably it still grows, but now the hair on the very top of my head does not cluster together in sufficient numbers for any ordinary person to consider it to be a hairstyle worthy of note, in fact it looks like a mess, so it has to be kept short, very short, US Marine shaved short, just to save me looking like a tramp who can’t afford £18 every three years for his own electric clippers.
The hair on the sides and back of my head is a different story though, all around the periphery of my head it still grows strong and thick, if a little, ok a lot grey, or as I prefer to call it, silver, or as I prefer even more to call it, “dignified”.
But it grows so strong and thick that it too looks like a bloody mess and so it too needs shaving, if the hair on top of my head grew in the same way as the hair on the sides and back of my head then I would have a glorious long flowing mane of silver hair, dignified. As it is it just looks like a tramps head of hair if it isn’t razor clipped at least once a fortnight, for free, by myself in front of a mirror, still trying to work out which way is left and which way is right when you’re stood in front of a mirror.
So I shaved my head again on Sunday, there is something very satisfying about shaving tramps hair and making it look all neat and uniform again, so I hadn’t had enough of a fix when it was all shaved down to one quarter inch, so I changed the guide on the shaver and went over it again – its now US Marine short and when your hair is that colour known as “dignified” the US Marine cut makes it almost invisible.
If anyone needs a Telly Savalas look-alike for private functions then just drop me an email.