Continuing with the image theme, I have taken some time to reflect on another cause of consternation in my life. Hair!
Earlier this year, I foolishly trusted Mick to take Patrick to the Barbers for his regular trim. He returned an hour later, with this new look. Needless to say, with only a month of growing time before Saoirse making her Confirmation and a raft of Family photographs for posterity and more importantly Social Media to be taken, I was unimpressed.
Hair has always managed to cause me great stress. I have that annoying fine hair that won’t stay put for 5 minutes, even with the best blow dry in the world.
For most of my life, I have been blonde. Naturally or otherwise. I had a little experimentation with dark hair in my twenties, but it lasted less than a year. Last year after struggling to get the exact blonde I wanted, and the constant reappearance of my roots. I decided, I was going dark. I was impressed with how brave I was.
At the start it went way too dark, my poor hairdresser tried to hide the panic in her voice as she tried to convince me it was actually very dark brown and not full on black. I was going for dairy milk but I’d come out 70% cocoa! She toned it down a few days later and it was closer to what I was looking for.
After a few weeks, I thought I’d be ‘on trend’ and get some balayage. My hairdresser obliged, but warned me that it would be bad for my hair, but I was determined and she knows better than to try and change my mind. She was right! The blonde balayage destroyed it and it was like straw, I had to stay away from the field in case the donkey tried to take a chunk out of my head.
I told my hairdresser to just “cut it off’, a phrase I rarely utter. Not short-short, but a short bob. Leaving me with distinct look of Mary Lou McDonald – how did that happen when I showed a picture of Scarlet Johansson????
I do actually feel sorry for hairdressers, we invest so much hope in them transforming us from head to toe. I always expect them to trim away 30lb along with my split ends and feel let down when they don’t. I have to remind myself, they went to hairdressing college not Hogwarts.
But outside of the professional control of the hairdresser, who are trained in the black art of blow drying, we all have battles with our hair, so I decided to write a little ditty to reflect our struggles:
How I wish my hair would nicely sit. Even just for a little bit.
It’s fine, fuzzy and always flyaway. It drives me crazy every day.
My friend’s hair is glossy and thick, Looking at it makes me sick.
Why can’t I ever master the dry, Instead of feeling like I want to cry.
Straighteners only work for 15 mins, And then I’m subjected to stranger’s grins.
Because my hair is standing up tall, And my stylist I need to call.
Wax, mousse, and conditioner spray, I invest a fortune every day.
But nothing ever seems to work,I look like a woman who’s gone beserk,
If it isn’t sticking out and looking scary, It looks as flat as the wings of a fairy.
Why is my hair just never right? When I want to look like dynamite.
I have albums of pictures with styles I love, Black as coal or white as a dove.
But I never come out looking like that I’m always more like a tabby cat.
My hair’s so porous the colour goes funny Especially if the weather is sunny.
Why don’t I look like the picture I bring in? Tall and lean and looking thin.
It’s one of life’s huge frustrations, Like chipping nails and overdue gestations.
I really just need to learn to accept. I’ll always look wild and windswept
It’s all part of my personal style. So, I suck it up and have to smile.
Now I wonder can my hairdresser make me look like Heidi Klum next time…………….although it’s more likely I’ll end up looking my German Shepherd Heidi.