Saturday, 18 July 2009

Just shut up and cut

Before I begin - could the person who just found my blog by Googling 'getting my balls sucked' please leave. I may talk about my balls and their adventures rather a lot, but I have (personally) never sucked them. You need to talk to the Disabled Lift at the Youth Hostel about that one.

Anyway, I digress.

Today I went to the hairdressers.

This was a rare and much looked forward to event.

Being in the hairdressers means the following:

Cups of tea get brought to you, you do not have to move for OVER AN HOUR, nobody cries (well not usually), nobody tells you they need a wee and can't touch their willy because they don't want to wash their hands (and if they did, somebody would call the police) and nobody starts to cry when you tell them they can't have a biscuit.

So I was looking forward to 100 Minutes of Solitude.

But no.

The woman who cuts my hair is very good at cutting hair but she is NOT very good at taking the hint and just getting on with the job at hand rather than waffling on about utter piffle.

It went something like this (thoughts in italics):

Her: So you got anything exciting planned for tonight?

Me: (What? Are you kidding? This is a Saturday night? The most exciting thing that happens to people like me is watching people fall off the giant red balls on 'Total Wipeout') No, not tonight.

Her: Whaaaat? No parties? On a SATURDAY!?

Me: (Yes my life is THAT lame) Well I've got 2 small kids, it's hard you know.


Me: (Yes kids, they're not actually contagious, you don't need to make it sound as if I've got Rabies or, in fact, Swine Flu) Yeah, two.

Her: OH. MY. GOD

Me: (What? You don't normally cut the hair of women who have bred?) Yeah.

Her: Going away this summer?

Me: No.

Her: Oh.

Me: (Feeling I have to apologise for my sheer boringness) Well we had to go to the Lake District for a week for my Grandad's 90th........ (this isn't helping is it?).

Her: Oh well that must have been AMAZING. At least you got out.

Me: Thanks (I think).

Her: My mum and dad have been in Portugal this last week and I HATE IT. Your life just isn't normal anymore - you constantly find yourself stressing about stuff like whether or not you've shut the front door or turned the oven off.

Me: Erm, yeah, that must be really stressful (what? WHAT!? She's in her twenties this girl - by that age I could cope with turning the oven off).

Her: Do you worry about that stuff then?

Me: Not any more.

Her: Do ya watch Big Brother?

Me: No.

Her: Oh OK then, well it's like this...... (20 solid minutes of her describing every detail of a show that I have spent the last x week deliberately avoiding. From what I can recall, they are all a 'bunch of bitches').

Me: Oh right. Sounds, erm, fascinating.

Her: AND hamster DIED.

Me: What? On Big Brother?

Her: No, in his cage. God I am SO DEPRESSED.

Me: (Here we go again, having to smile and take whinge-bags using the word 'depressed' to describe sh1t like their hamster dying rather than the actual reality of wandering in a black void from which there feels to be no escape and in which hope is lost to the point of truly wanting to die) Yeah it must have been, erm, sad.

Her: Yeah it was SO DEPRESSING. Like the worst thing EVER.

Me: How old was he?

Her: 3

Me: (Well what the f'ck do you expect? That is ancient in hamster years. Did you expect him to defy the laws of nature and live forever or something? You numpty) Well it was a good age. For a rodent. I had a lot of hamsters as a kid. 6 actually. One after the other. Spanning 12 years. Hammy 1, Hammy 2, Hammy 3, Hammy catch my drift. In the end I thought it was all a bit pointless. Guinea pigs are better anyway. 2 years is normal so he did well - don't beat yourself up about it.


Me: Oh (well, hate to say this love, but it's gonna get worse).

Her: So I'm gonna get a tortoise.

Me: Riiiiiiight (hamster? tortoise? Same thing innit? No - it's not).

Her: Yeah they live to like a ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. So hopefully I will die first.

Me: Yes, hopefully you will.

Her: It will save me from the pain.

Me: mmmmm (I could say a lot here but I dare not).

Her: It was either that or a parrot. They get really old too. But I couldn't take the mess. Or the noise.

Me: Yes I shouldn't imagine tortoises are that noisy.

Her: No. Far as I know they don't say nothing.

Me: No, can't say I've ever heard one make a noise let alone say anything... sorry could I have another magazine? (Images of talking tortoises flashing through my brain....).

And with that I was presented with a pile of magazines containing approximately 3,600 photographs of Michael Jackson and 2,600 'exclusive' pieces of information about Jordan and Peter's marriage.


Well at least my hair looks better.


  1. OMG! Your hairdresser is worse than mine! Stressing over a hamster!! No way! Having been in the depths of despair (hospitalised on 3 occasions) I know where you're coming from.
    I too look forward to 60 mins of "me" time - never happens though does it?
    Out of interest though - the only pet my brother and I were allowed was a tortoise. My mother had had cats and dogs as a child and she "couldn't go through" the loss again. Needless to say my bro and I both have dogs now (plus I've had rabbits who bred - had 7 at one time - didn't get the male to the vet quickly enough!lol).
    Sorry for the essay - but I really do understand!
    Sue xx

  2. What, no photo of the new do? My hairdresser just tried to sell me some vitamin drink she is peddling so I tried to sell her scrapbooking supplies.

  3. I just skip the hairdressers and do it myself.... but then, I dont really have a hair style, so its no problem. And as for the perosn who found your site with 'getting my balls sucked' ... i hope he does hang about, would love to hear what he says about all this !

  4. I much prefer a quiet hairdresser! This bit made me laugh out loud and scare my husband:

    Her: Yeah they live to like a ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD. So hopefully I will die first.

    Me: Yes, hopefully you will.


  5. My ribs are actually hurting - this is so funny, she has to be the most annoying hairdresser EVER and that takes some doing :)

  6. Sounds like there was a reason she's a hairdresser and not a brain surgeon...

  7. very brave to consider even going to the hairdresser! but what a fantastic conversation! i have still not got over my last time - a fire alarm while my hair was being coloured. i stood in a crowded street with a bag on my head while my gracious stylist stood next to me dressed like a street walker chain smoking and swearing at firemen.

  8. You've got kids? OH. MY. GOD.


  9. those hairdressers really know what life is all about lol