I am in need of a haircut. I am not very good at getting my hair cut- I quickly run out of things to say, and tend to move my head about far too much (which is ironic, as I’m not speaking or anything, simply waving my head about searching the salon for conversational topics).
I have moved, and cunningly taken advantage of this opportunity to give myself a fresh hairdresser beginning(and my poor former hairdresser a well-deserved break). I noticed last night that we have a hairdressing salon just up the road. ‘We should go,’ I told my housemate enthusiastically. (She initially didn’t want a haircut, but I encouraged her to get one, pointing out that her hair looked ‘awful’ and ‘offended my eyes’). We popped out last night to check out the salon. ‘Any cut for £9’, the sign across the salon window promised.
My housemate and I noticed this at precisely the same time, and turned to look at one another. ‘Brilliant!’ I exclaimed happily. ‘There is not a chance in hell I am letting these people touch my hair,’ My housemate said at the same moment. We paused for a moment in confusion. ‘But it’s £9,’ We both told each other emphatically.
‘We seem to be somewhat at odds here,’ I pointed out helpfully. ‘I propose a compromise. Let’s go to get our haircut here.’ ‘Or,’ My housemate responded. ‘We could not get our haircut here, but find somewhere else, that we both like.’ ‘Hmm,’ I replied. ‘We seem to have reached an impasse.’ I stared at her, to let her know that this was entirely due to her own inability to compromise.
To show her how rational, accommodating grown-ups behave, I waited till she went to work this morning then popped out and got my hair cut. Unfortunately, I became so incensed at a Cosmopolitan article on ‘how to please your man’ that I swung my head around violently just as my hairdresser was cutting me a fringe. It seems my housemate has won, and we will be going to get our haircut somewhere else after all.