I’ve just arrived back from getting myself a bit of a snip as my hair has been growing increasingly out of control for a while now. The hot weather has backed me into a corner and has forced me to chop away the heavy fringe that was lying on my forehead like a dead badger. Now I’m sporting a classic ‘flick fringe’. The down side to all this, is that I’m £14.50 out of pocket and can’t fashion my hair like Doctor Who anymore. The up side is that you get to see my beautiful forehead that’s been hidden for so long.
Hairdressers are quite a personal thing don’t you think? I spent a few years finding a decent one when I moved away from home only for them to bugger off to Australia. Back when I was a kid though, there was never any question. I always got taken to an old man that ran his own business and I’m pretty sure he’s still at it, even as a pensioner. I can’t imagine he’s won any awards or anything mind, but he was a whizz when it came to giving you a ‘short back and sides’. He even managed to make me bleed once. As I grew older I tried desperately to get him to give me a ‘cool’ haircut as opposed to the fanny fringe I was sporting, or indeed the wedge that parents thought looked ‘rad’. So there I sat at twelve years old wanting something new, and with my prepubescent voice said “Mick, rather than a short back and sides, can you just use the scissors to cut into it at the back please?” BUZZZZZZ! “Er, scissors Mick?” BUZZZZZ! I thought that he perhaps hadn’t fully understood me, so next time I was due a trim I asked again. “Can you leave the sheers this time Mick, just thin it out? I don’t want a short back and sides”. BUZZZZZZ! “Errrr, thanks Mick”. There was no negotiating with the man though; it was simply a short back and sides or nothing. He was shit.
You’re right in wondering why I didn’t just go somewhere else to get my hair cut. Well, the simple reason is that despite Mick being a shit hairdresser, he wasn’t shy of having a downright dirty calendar in his toilet. As you went for a wee, you got chance to gaze upon the finest women of the 80’s with their permed bouffants and quite frankly, out of this world pubic hair. I was twelve years old and given that the internet hadn’t yet arrived, these outdated women we’re as close as I got for a fair few years. Hairy beavers aside, they we’re beautiful, especially Miss July 1983. I often wonder if it’s still in that toilet. Call it what you will; a hairy axe wound, an afro fanny or even Hagrid’s beard… that overgrown mess of a pubic region was on full display in the hairdressers. Oh the irony.
You can find even more witticisms from Eddie over at the Calm Down Dearest page on Facebook. Just make sure you dash back over here every Wednesday, ok?