Zhooshed to the max
(Haircut: Glasgow, Scotland)
This is potentially the most hilarious haircut I have had in a long time. It’s certainly one of the more daring snips of recent posts. I thought the last one was rather jazzy, but this one jumps all over that one and calls it a pansy. I have been embracing the opportunities of free haircuts for several months now and now I have racked up a stunning hat trick* of free haircuts, plus one dye job in a row. This one is the first one to have caused me a mild panic. Despite the predictable assumption that I have very little hair, it was at least five inches long (in places) yesterday morning and there was heaps of trimmed strands all over me. Today though, I have no sideburns**, substantial fringe or indeed any hair below my ears to speak of. It has been shorn off till I can just feel stubble under my fingertips.
I learned in the same salon in which I have been harvesting a boon of free restyling sessions, a cut of the same calibre would cost almost three quarters of the way to double figures. In pounds. I hid my shock rather well, but it immediately quashed any delusions I might have had about becoming a legitimate paying customer. Besides, I prefer my current title of ‘hair model’, it sounds much better than ‘freeloader’, ‘cheapskate’ or ‘that jakey artist girl that never pays’. Where haircuts are concerned, I must admit to being a tight fisted so and so. I cannot afford the upkeep of short hair, especially since I suspect someone must be applying fertiliser to my shampoo – my hair grows visibly longer in a single week and currently my snazzy cuts are lasting a little over a month before they feel like an unmowed lawn.
Whilst the free cuts last, I will bear the stress of learning how to blow dry – a skill I assumed was confined to simply aiming a hairdryer at my head – and of removing all the ‘product’ that hairdressers are so fond of rubbing into my hair to ‘give it some texture’. My head has been sprayed, rubbed, massaged, pinched, twisted, zhooshed, swept, scooshed, spritzed and most recently dusted with various hair treatments, all of which I wash out at the earliest opportunity. Plus, those little shards of cut hair make me feel like my clothes have been raked through an ant’s nest. It is quite evident, I love it.
* Only upon re reading this have I noticed I made a pun.
** Perhaps the hair in front of a lady’s ears is not referred to as a ‘sideburn’, but if not that, then what? Ideas, please.
– Today Rosie is drawing, blinking in the rare sunshine, emailing and going to the cinema in Glasgow, Scotland –
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