Just had a haircut. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back. It started off pleasantly enough with a complimentary flat white and the usual shampoo and scalp massage (why does that feel so damn good?), but it was all downhill after that. There was only about ten minutes of actual hair cutting, and the rest of the time was the blow dry. I say “blow dry” but what I really mean is “blow torch”. She had the thing set on thermonuclear – she must have dialed it up to eleven. It was torture. She tried to tell me the billowing clouds coming off my head was just steam, but I could tell it was actually smoke from all that scorched keratin. She muttered something about split ends at one stage but I cannot imagine anything I could do to my hair that could be more damaging than the aggressive agent-orange level defoliation I was currently undergoing. And after she’d spent 30 minutes doing that, she moved onto the hair iron. Horrific. She smilingly gave me her card as I was leaving the salon, which I’m guessing shows at least one of us thought everything had gone well.
I’m so traumatized I need a lie down. Wondering if I need a hairnet to protect my new “do” having gone through all that? Also trying to remember management of third degree burns from that trauma course I did years ago. (Butter? No, that’s not right…)
