"But, I paid for straight!"
Was my cry of Monday (yes, I know, delayed posting reaction. Kinda like on Monday night when my friend kept playing with my knees trying to get a reflex reaction, and so I kicked her about a minute later).
"But, I paid for straight!"
Probably what my parents think every time they look at me.
I should actually point out at this juncture that my parents didn't buy me off some internet site - there was no net in 1979. But, raising me wasn't cheap. My collection of Care Bears alone must've cost them a pretty penny.
I haven't seen a pretty penny for ages. When I was a kid I used to get all excited by the shiny bronze ones, but, now they all seem so drab and brown. Have they stopped making them? Or do the Royal Mint just drop them in muddy puddles as soon as they come off the press?
"But, I paid for straight!"
Yes, on Monday, I got my hair cut.
Those of you that know me in real life will know that 99% of the time my hair is firmly restrained in a pony tail. Usually with clips for extra hair holding down efficiency.
I hate my hair. My hair's natural texture is the same as that of Troll Dolls. Remember them? Popular in the late 80's/early 90's?
At school the people that called me names observed my hair. Oh yes. They moved beyond the bog standard "Lisa the pizza" (oh what joy it was to be called a name that vaguely rhymed with 'pizza' and have teenage acne that kicked in at age 7). Most people even got beyond the fact that my Essex upbringing meant that I never pronounced my "h"'s or my "t"'s. It was my hair that warranted the nickname that stuck with me throughout secondary school - 'Troll'. Because of my erectile hair.
You think they were exaggerating with their claim? I wish. Despite having sported the ponytail for most of my life, because I was kinda shy and insecure, I used to have a "fringe" (it actually came down to my chin) to hide behind. Whenever I brushed it back off of my face, it used to stand straight up, supported by it's own fuzziness.
Thanks god for products! I've now learned to keep the frizz under control, so I no longer resemble a small piece of plastic with pink hair. But, my hair still likes to do mad things when unrestrained.
5 years ago I decided to have all my hair cut off. This was literally the first time since I was a baby that my hair had been unponytailable. When I was about 11 and going through my phase of being obsessed with Bobby from Home & Away (me, baby dyke, much?) I had my hair cut into a bob just like hers. Though I never did actually tie my hair back back then (Bobby never did!) it was still technically ponytailable.
But, five years ago I decided to look the lezzer part and have short hair. It only lasted about a year until I got a job during my first summer at uni - in Oxford. Commuting out from Uxbridge every day meant that I never got home until about 9pm, and, because I was earning I had the money to spend my weekends in exotic locations like Brussels, Dublin or a festival campsite up to my wheel spindles in mud... in short, I never had the time to get my hair cut, and by the end of the summer it was back in a ponytail, and I decided I preferred it that way.
See, when my hair was short, it went a bit wild. Fortunately university students are (a bit) nicer than kids so I never got called "Troll" again, but, then, I used to put so much mousse in my hair to hold it down I'm surprised that no Friends fan decided to start calling me "Wet head." Instead, students just used to steal my cheese out of the communal fridge. Bastards.
Not long after my hair grew back, I bought my first digital camera. From then on, New Hair Days were a cause for much celebration, and many self taken photos. Friends have tried to blow dry my hair straight, and all have failed. It seems to take years of hairdressing training to know how to make my hair behave. So, those 4(ish) days a year when I get my hair lopped off are worth photoing to prove that I can look (vaguely) pretty sometimes.
I used to always try and arrange a night out on New Hair Days to celebrate and show of the shinyness of my locks. But, I've concluded that that involves too much effort in cajoling people to hang out with me. So I've now resorted to only getting my hair cut on days when I know in advance that I'm doing something in the evening. I mentioned in my last post that a friend and I went out to see Stryngs on Monday night, and I had a meeting on Monday afternoon, so Monday morning seemed a perfect opportunity to get my hair cut and show off my hairs shiny newness to the maximum number of people.
I left the hairdressers at 1pm. By 3pm my hair had gone all flicky at the ends. I was Not Happy.
"But I paid for straight!" was how I greeted my friend on Monday night.
"Aw, it looks gorgeous," she tactfully responded.
"But, I paid for straight! Look, it's all flicky at the ends." I untucked the curliest bit from behind my ears to highlight how bad my hair day was.
"But, that's where it's been behind your ears..."
"No, this is why I tucked it behind my ears!"
"Oh. It still looks good. Don't worry."
"I am worried. I paid for straight!"
"Well, your hair is just like the rest of you, isn't it."
"That's not funny. I paid for straight, and I can't even ponytail it now until I've washed it because it's too volumey from being blow-dried."
"My hair's got flicky bits at the end too..." my friend was still trying.
"Yes, but you didn't pay £46 for straight this morning!"
So, my excitement over my new hair day quashed by the fact that my hair had curled in an assortment of random directions at the ends, I did the only thing one can do in such a dire situation - get very drunk. Strongbow can take away all the pain.