A tirade against hairdressers...

If I was to spend nearly £60 on a hat, and dislike it immediately afterwards - I could at least take it back, and not be forced to adorn my bonce with it. Unfortunately, with hair, it isn't that simple.

I hate my natural boring mousy brown hue, and the unmanageable frizziness of my curls. I therefore have it dyed copper, and spend most mornings 'de-frizzing' the waves with twists of my straighteners. After years of attempting to dye it at home, I find the professionals usually do a better job of my roots than I do, seeing as I have yet to evolve a set of eyes on the back of my head. When it comes to the actual styling however -things generally go awry.

They usually leave the styling to some 17 year old hungover trainee, who has knowledge of 2 styles. She will either blow-dry and straighten the fuck out of your hair with ghds (resulting in the sort of limp, lifeless hair that 'our cheryl' of the bouncing mane campaigns against), or she goes bloody mental with the biggest diffuser she can find - leaving you looking like a victim of electro-shock therapy gone wrong.

Then they have the cheek to ask 'So are you going out tonight?', as if it would be a colossal waste to visit them and not somehow have a big event planned that evening. I lie. My mouth says 'Yeah, probably out for a few drinks with the the other half'. My brain screams 'are you f*&king kidding me?! I literally have to stay in & WASH MY GODDAMN HAIR after you are through with it!'
I have no idea why I play along with this charade to protect their feelings.

So yes, I have been to the hairdressers today. I am still feeling slightly bitter. Please excuse me while I go shampoo my hair...