My hair doesn’t promise anything good.
It has become too strange.
It looks all worn out, like grass in a well-trodden football field.
There are random whorls of hairs, of various lengths, pointing in different directions.
I have never (yet) seen anyone with hair like this, ever.
I suppose that people with hair like me either cut it off or wear a hat or a wig?
On a more positive note, at least my hair is not green.
That is the good news.
The not-so-good news is that my hair is now completely untameable.
I do not bother with a brush but instead ‘comb’ it with my hand.
Really I need to go to the hairdresser’s but it would be just too embarrassing.
I know that a hairdresser would ask me a perfectly routine question such as:
“So, what are we going for today then? Just a cut? Or perhaps a restyle?”
And she would smile and smile and smile, feeling sadder or nastier by the second.
Meanwhile I would have to look as if I were cheerfully pondering over my answer, rather than trying hard not to blurt out a reply along the lines of:
“I need more than a restyle for my hair, please. I need a 100% makeover.”
But I doubt any hairdresser actually wants to hear words like that.
Maybe even a highly paid surgeon would be daunted.
The truth is that I would like to ask outright for a miracle, thank you.
And such an item is never mentioned on a hairdresser’s price list.
Many years ago I went to a hairdresser’s and took along a photo of a famous person with lovely hair.
I thought it would be helpful and practical.
And so much quicker than drawing a sketch or waving my arms in the air.
I promise you I was only asking for an attempt at a similar hairstyle: a simple cut, not a major rehaul.
I was definitely not suggesting that I was expecting the matching beautiful face, body, personality and lifestyle as well.
I didn’t even have that sort of idea in mind.
I assumed that a picture might say a thousand words on my behalf.
This was correct – but I soon realised that the words somehow came out as the wrong ones, and not my own at all.
The experience of going to the hairdresser for me was like counselling, but in reverse:
I went in with a positive attitude and came out with a negative one.
I had had ‘my’ fancy ambitions snipped and destroyed, at the same time as my hair.
Well, that was a life lesson in rubbishy-ness.
In my opinion, it wasn’t great value for money.
And I certainly didn’t notice this service on the pricelist either.
Maybe now I would have nothing (much) to lose if I were to go into a hairdresser’s and actually ask for a miracle?
I could declare:
“Yes, I wish for the whole package, please.
I would like to be transformed into a beautiful lady.”
Then I would smile and smile and smile, like a person who has never had – and never will have – bad experiences with people holding scissors.
And either the hairdresser would make a brave attempt at kindness towards a person with very nearly hopeless hair (and face, possibly the rest as well), or she would suggest that I find a magician.
Actually, I may have found the solution!
A hairdresser who has a wand, not a pair of scissors?
And one with a delightful, helpful attitude!
If so, I think I have just found a picture of one!
So my plan is this:
I will take this photo to a salon and explain that I am looking for a hairdresser with a very special talent.
And I would make it clear that I am an optimist, but not a vain one.
I don’t expect to look like this lovely hairdresser-magician.
I am only wishing for her to create a small miracle, please.
Hair that I can brush.
Ideally with some shininess, if that could be arranged.
It might be worth a try.
Some hairdressers do work with cancer charities and will be knowledgeable on how to help.
I spoke with my hairdresser at the time of my diagnosis and she has been brilliant so far. I go in later this week to get my existing pixie made really short, and to make the 2 wigs I have got look more like me. Your hair will eventually recover.