Brown
So I finally managed to slot in a visit to Gorgeous G, my yummy hairdresser. Someone fabulous and glamorous once told me that a girl should never allow anyone except a man to cut her hair, and even though I can’t remember who it was (I do remember that they were fantastically well groomed), I’ve stuck by that rule ever since. Gorgeous G is a find. Not only is he friendly, chatty and heterosexual (okay, I suppose that doesn’t really matter, but the whole point is to find someone who will make you look attractive, and if their idea of attractive is Brad Pitt, well, frankly you’re in trouble), he’s also pleasingly easy on the eye. Digressing. So I plonked myself down in the chair, G gave me a quick once over, and the trouble began.
G (shakes head and does the sucking air through teeth thing that plumbers do when your boiler’s going to cost a fortune): ‘Ohhh dear. You’re looking a bit…’
Me: ‘A bit….what?’
G: ‘Well, a bit dull and washed out, and your hair is frazzled’
Me: ‘Frazzled. Okay, that’s not a technical term for fantastic, then?’
G: ‘Er, no. It’s a technical term for: step away from the straighteners, girl’*
Ah. So, basically his solution was a radical one: brown. Now I’ve no objection, in principal, to brown hair. There are plenty of beautiful brunettes in the world, but I came into the world blonde, and even though I’ve darkened over the years, my comfort zone is distinctly blonde-flavoured. Reader, I panicked. I took some persuading, but G explained, in his best ‘I’m the expert and therefore I know best’ voice, that it was either brown or a radical few inches off the length and I look like a boy with short hair. I took some persuading, but after promising faithfully that it would restore some much-needed shine to my over processed locks, I gave in. Two hours later and several Euro lighter, I emerged, like an..erm..hairy butterfly, a glossy brunette. ‘There’, said G, somewhat unconvincingly, ‘it’s lovely’, before quickly adding ‘look, try and live with it and if you really hate it I’ll fix it on Monday’.
So I went home, looking in the rear-view mirror all the way at the shadowy, serious stranger driving my car. When I got in, I did the washing up, staring again at the dark and sombre stranger standing at my sink. I picked the children up from school (wary glances were shot in my direction, but nothing was actually said out loud – I think it was my trembling bottom lip that did it). And finally I phoned Hubby: ‘I hate myself’, I said, ‘I’m dowdy and boring and, well, brown. I haven’t laughed once since I was brown. I can’t even think of anything funny to write on the blog. It’s not me. I’m happy and fun and, well, blonde’. But men don’t GET stuff about hair. They don’t see how important it is. And his reassurances that ‘I bet it’s lovely, and you’ll get used to it’ somehow didn’t hit the spot. This called for the BF. I reached for the pink batphone:
Me: ‘I’ve gone brown’
J: ‘No!’
Me: ‘Yeah’
J: ‘You hate it don’t you’
Me: ‘Yup’
J: ‘Get thee back to the hairdressers. There’s only room for one brunette in this friendship, and that slot’s taken. Get blonde and buy a good treatment. End of.’
So that’s it then. I’ll be loitering outside the hairdresser’s at 9am tomorrow morning, and will pester G like a deranged thing until he promises to restore my sunshiny, happy blondeness and banish this brown forever. Then I’ll make you laugh again. Promise.
*Okay, so that’s not exactly how the conversation went, but you get the picture.
J’s right.Get yourself back down there, get your mojo back and have a nice moisturising treatment.
X
Otherwise how shall I recognise you next month?.
Ah, go on, it’ll give us a laugh! I dare you!
Sandra: No way, Pedro! The brown is a thing of the past and long may it remain so!! x
Hairdressers are Evil Bar Stewards who are bred off the coast of Cork with World Bouffant Domination their only goal in life.
Which is why I sport a boy crop.
Welcome back to Blondeness Missus!
73: Now listen. If you’re going to live up to your bestowed title of ‘Token Man’ you’ve got to join in. Stop sulking.
J: Gosh you’re scary. Actually, Gorgeous G reversed my disaster and I’m once again blonde and very happy about it. Oh, and he didn’t charge me either. The petal.
Nats: ‘can’t seem to stay away from them foils’ LOL! That’s exactly how I feel! Frazzled be damned, I’m blonde and proud (if a little damaged) heh.
Keep it up missus!
X
Comment by Isitjustme? — February 4, 2008 @ 6:53 pm | Edit This
I’m not sulking so much as too busy to contribute with all of this nit-watching.
Comment by 73man — February 5, 2008 @ 10:16 am | Edit This
Brunette, blonde, even red hair, I’m sure your only gorgeous
Comment by aidy — February 5, 2008 @ 4:57 pm | Edit This
Even Red Hair ……. thats a terrible thing to say ….
Comment by Moon — February 5, 2008 @ 5:29 pm | Edit This
Isit: Bless you. Aussie 3 minute miracle is the way to go. Worked just as well as the 25 quid Kerastase one I bought previously…although that was good too… x
73: You are SO sulking. Your intellect is no match for a girly conversation about hair! x
Aidy: Aw *blushes*, thanks. You haven’t seen me at 7am. Think Animal off the Muppets.
Moon: Pah. You gingers are so touchy!! x
Comment by englishmuminireland — February 5, 2008 @ 5:46 pm | Edit This
Lived lots of years as a brunette – it’s not all bad!
Comment by Heth — February 5, 2008 @ 5:51 pm | Edit This
Ooopppss wasnt saying anything bad about red hair, I luv red hair and green eyes, just dont think it suits everyone lol!
Comment by aidy — February 5, 2008 @ 6:10 pm | Edit This
Heth: No no no no nooooo, it’s absolutely not bad. Three of my bestest friends are brunettes (and my Hubby but I don’t think he counts) and they’re gorgeous. It’s just not me. I look like an undertaker!
Comment by englishmuminireland — February 5, 2008 @ 6:19 pm | Edit This
Aidy: So between us we’ve managed to upset redheads and brunettes! Go us, eh?! x
[...] you might remember Gorgeous G, my rather lubly hairdresser. Truly scrumptious, very talented and – gasp! – not gay. After [...]