My hairdresser knew my darkest secret!

Not long ago I went to the hairdresser for the first time since my surgery. (I would have gone before but between the very idea of bending my neck backwards over a sink whilst my head is pummelled*¹ combined with the fact that up until then I felt like sh*t made me decide that I couldn’t face it.)

Anyway, my last haircut before surgery was not done by my regular ‘girl’ (I have no idea why they are all called girls, since some of them are ancient, but there you go) – instead the boss did it as my ‘girl’ was away. Consequently she didn’t know I was going into hospital and even if she had I probably wouldn’t have told her why. You see, I always tried to stand to make it look like I didn’t have any curves (apart from proper womanly ones of course) - I have no idea why I wanted to hide it, it’s not like I was ashamed that my back had gone off in its own direction (literally) but maybe I just wanted to look a bit more like a magazine model. Yep, me, the ex- 4ft 9” (now 4ft 11”) thinks that with enough make-up and the right clothes I could in fact look just like Elle McPherson (not!).

So, I went in for a nice cut and to get rid of my flowing (umm what I actually mean is unruly, greasy and straggly) locks. Now at this point you have to appreciate that I normally have short hair – but not short hair like most women my age. No, I have very short hair, in fact it’s just the kind of short hair that can look exactly like I have had a struggle with a lawnmower (though to be fair I think the lawnmower comes off worse) – it’s short and spiky (as long as I get it cut often enough) and sometimes I dye it with the brightest shade I have the courage to do. The Christmas before last I had lots of very red streaks – not auburn or ginger – really red red! I loved it and called it my Christmas hair – others were not so impressed (friends, mother etc) – hubby was cool about it, but then he usually is (he’s very laid back is hubby..). Anyway, at the risk of digressing some more, I left the hairdressers the same colour that I went in with and with not much cutting going on either! My ‘girl’ said “You should grow it, its over your ears now and it seems a waste – just think if it was long we could do all sorts of exciting things with it” – “Like cut it off?” I asked? Anyway, long story short, she won - so I am growing it to a length which most people seem to regard as short hair. In fact, now I’m a bit more used to it, I think I like it and there’s more of it to put streaks in too – seems a waste to spend all that money on just dying 2” of hair when you can do 5” for the same money after all!
Anyway, I have digressed enough about my hair; this was supposed to be about the hairdresser! I got there, walked in (with my two sticks) and sat down to have my hair washed. A conversation ensued:

My ‘girl’: ’“I haven’t seen you for ages”
Me: “I’ve been in hospital having an operation”
My ‘girl’: “Oh, did they straighten out your spine then? You look a lot less crooked.”

Rats! She had known all along and I thought I’d kept it hidden so well….

*1. Actually, you don’t get pummelled at our hairdressers, or at least not when J. is there. It’s like an orgasm in a hand basin when he washes your hair – there are ladies who don’t care who does their cutting as long as he does the washing. He even has very old ladies going weak at the knees and asking for him by name. I’m amazed his boyfriend doesn’t get jealous sometimes….