Bad Hair Day

 

The planets finally aligned the past weekend to bestow upon me a hair cut. These celestial beings are named Money, Time and My-Hair-Is-So-Long-When-I-Lie-Down-To-Sleep-It-Is-In-My-Way.  A mother does not simply get her hair cut. She needs these planets to align if such a miracle were to happen. There seems to be some unwritten rule for hairdressers to spend the minimum of an hour to do a woman’s hair. Layer by layer of hair is blown dry. Not to mention the time spent waiting. Such precious time that could be spent cleaning up the house, finding money, feeding the family, or God forbid – relaxing. There has to be entertainment for the kids while they wait. Facial expression must be set in stone whilst one listens to the barber prattle on about the state of one’s hair. “Other people go for scalp treatment at least once a month,” says he. Yeah well, I think to myself. I’d like to sleep through the night once a month.

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