Hair today…

Theresa May
My new haircut

I’ve had my hair cut, and it’s kind of big deal, because a) I massively overestimate my importance, it’s what makes me so damn adorable, b) I had a LOADS taken off c) I go to the hair dressers about as often as I have major surgery. I prefer the surgery tbh.

In my opinion there is a bit of a tendency in the health and beauty industry to exaggerate the need for regular visits. If I regularly postpone smear tests, skipping a few trips to the salon isn’t going to bother me. Split ends don’t cause cancer (hairdresser looks at me as if to say, ‘but do they though?’)

I don’t think I’ve ever had a facial where the therapist hasn’t told me I should be having more facials despite my only having the one face. Now that they’re not free anymore, dentists do this sales stuff too. Last time I went my dentist said my teeth worked fine, but they weren’t white enough. I asked him when did dentistry get all racist? Sorry Mr Dentist, but if I was going to ‘un-yellow’ bits of me, I’d start with my liver. Then my dentist asked me if I drink red wine, I said, thanks, but this Rosé is fine, and he said that’s the mouth rinse, and you’re supposed to spit it out. Pretentious wanker.

It’s the opticians I feel sorry for. There’s not much they can say to you really, once you’ve done the eye test, and your sight is fine, that’s pretty much it. They can’t really add, ‘Would you like a quick eyeball polish? Or ‘we recommend that you try blinking more and wherever possible incorporate NOT JABBING YOURSELF IN THE EYE into your daily routine.’

Any way I was inspired to go the hairdressers by a friend of mine, who’d just had her long hair cut to a gorgeous bob. She’d even donated her lopped off locks to a charity which makes wigs for little girls who’ve lost their hair undergoing chemotherapy. I was going to do the same, but on second thoughts I really wouldn’t wish my split-ends on some poor bald girl. She’s got enough problems without a wig of badly dyed blonde hair making her look more chav than an extra from Eastenders.

I take the attitude that there is a ceiling to what I can really achieve with this hair and beauty thing. I could spend a small fortune chemically manipulating my hair and skin so they look consistently immaculate, but there’s no getting around the fact that my head looks like something God came up with when he was arseing about on his etch-a-sketch. If I was sensible I’d shave my head, but then I’d be cold and the cancer kids are hogging all the wigs, so I think I’ll stick to hats.


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