It’s been a while since I’ve had a hair cut, dear reader.
When I say “a while” I mean several months.
When I say “several” I’m probably talking more like six or seven.
I was convinced that Alice Who is a Cat had been nibbling whilst I slept, but maybe the lack of acquaintance with the hairdressers scissors may have something to do with the tatty lack of style that topped my head.
Button was in a similar predicament. We’ve been growing out her baby hair but it had reached the stage where we were holding her fringe out of her eyes for only an hour a day until she pulled the clip out.
It would seem to be an easily resolvable issue. Get. A. Haircut.
But, dear reader, we live in Backwater Central. And whilst there seems to be eleventy million hairdressers in our small town, there isn’t one of them I really trust with my hair. One of the local ones is renowned for taking the tips off your ears at no extra charge.
But our gym has a rather nice looking salon and I’ve never seen anyone leave there in tears. So we bit the bullet and made an appointment.
At this point I should let you know that Button has only had her hair cut with Mummy’s embroidery scissors to date. So as we arrived at the salon I was slightly nervous. She’s howled like a banshee at the dentist and I was hoping we wouldn’t have a repeat performance.