Why I Hate: Going to the Hairdresser

Yesterday, something miraculous occurred. Yes, miraculous. Are you ready?

I went to the hairdresser, enjoyed the experience and was happy with the end result.

Here's why that's a miracle:
  • When I was a small child, my Grandma used to cut my hair. This was actually not as traumatic as it could have been, although it did mean that my experience of visiting an actual hairdresser was somewhat delayed.
  • As a teenager, my Mum decided it was time for me to visit a 'proper' hairdresser. Unfortunately this turned out to be her friend, who cut hair in her kitchen. If my memory serves me correctly, it was £2.50 for a cut and blow dry. That should have been a clue. All went well until I decided to get a bob. It ended in tears (mine) of laughter (my brother's).
  • As a student I finally decided to visit an actual salon. I got a decent haircut very cheap (by a trainee hairdresser). All was ok...
  • ...until my then-boyfriend (now-husband) accidentally cut my hair off. Yes, you read right. That's a whole other blog post, but basically it ended with me having to get another bob. A better one this time, but still not an entirely positive hair experience.
  • As you probably know, I hate awkward social situations. I can pretty much put up with meeting new people if it might possibly result in an actual, less awkward, friendship. Making stilted conversation with a hairdresser is never going to end in a friendship. It is therefore not only awkward and horrible, but utterly futile.
  • I have no desire to pay someone to bitch about my hair.
  • It really hurts my neck when I have to lean backwards into the sink.

So that's why yesterday was miraculous. See? Even with all that hatred, there's a silver lining. I'm like the little ray of sunshine in your life.

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