SELF CONTROL
It is a universal given that you should never coach someone without their permission. I can tell you, all that coaxing was like a harness. But the day I turned the corner was such a relief.
I was watching the way the hairdresser was able to stop her boobs from hitting the side of her client’s face as she leant across a damp head, blow drying with a brush in one hand and drier in the other, when the advice came as it always did. ‘Why don’t you tell her to lower the chair, or at least stand on one of those little steps?’
Well, you can imagine, can’t you? The embarrassment. I looked over my shoulder to see who’d said it. But the voice was so familiar, I knew already. ‘You should tell her. It’s not nice to have that in your face if it’s unsolicited. It’s not that kind of establishment.’
I shifted uneasily, but nobody was shocked or amused at the mention of wayward boobs or the propriety of the hairdresser. No disapproving wide eyes or raised eyebrows. The droning blare of the driers hummed about the salon uninterrupted.
I threw myself into the pages of a lifestyle magazine, printed specifically for the hard of taste and surfeit of cash. But there was to be no peace. ‘If that girl’s going to cut your hair, you should ask her to cut it shorter than usual, then you’ll find yourself in a boob free zone.’ I looked up from a page on cruelty free sofas, at the girl with the boobs and saw that that it was indeed the raising of a laden brush and a dryer aimed at a vertically held hank of hair that caused the precariously close proximity of boobs to face. Perhaps that was the standard stance and I just hadn’t noticed before. Without the interjections, I may have left the observation at an admirable skill.
But the gates had been left open and unattended. A deluge of self-appointed cosmetological ministry, rained down on me. ‘You should have your hair styled like the woman eating the sustainably sourced salad in the Eat Eco pages. Why not ask the girl with the boobs if she could style it like that?’
Shifting in my chair to project the idea that I heard nothing but the holiday plan chatter of stylist and styled, I turned the page to an article on ley line colour therapy for your wardrobe. The words, ‘Replace those old greys with something bright and sharp for summer.’ Fell epiphany-like. Un-coiffured, I left the salon.
At home I took a pair of scissors to my hair and rid myself of excess tresses. What remained, I swept away with the buzz and glide of an electric shaver. There would be no more coaching in hairdressing protocol. Bald as a coot, I returned to a liberating silence. A restored sense of self.
So glad that I have everything in hand.
Flight of the dragonfly 