Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Where's Inigo when you need him?

Today was the day when I was going to go from boring long crazy hair to funky street. Unfortunately I appeared to have been the victim of a Princess Bride moment. You know - "This word you are using, I am not thinking it is meaning what you think it means."
I hate bobs - they are fine on other people but I don't want one and I certainly cannot provide one with the care and maintenance it deserves. So I said "I don't want a bob. Every hairdresser tries to give me a bob and I don't want one." Basically the bob is the hairdresser changing moment.
So new hairdresser today to remove the three or four years of growth since the last bob episode (there may or may not have been some slashing with sewing scissors during that time but that is classified information.)
I take along a picture of what I want. I reiterate that no bob thing. My chosen haircut is cast aside as not really for my type of hair.

Now here comes the irony. When I was 13 or so I wanted a Dorothy Hamill or Marie Osmond bob desperately.

But the hairdresser said it was not suitable for my type of hair and gave me a style affectionately known as a shag. Turn the clock forward many years and when I present a picture of a shag I get told its not suitable for my type of hair and I get the bob. Next time I am going to ask for a number 2 and bright pink highlights - I might just get that shag.

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