Hair dressing heart attack

I usually have a good memory for things but when it comes to going to the hairdresser I seem to have a complete blind spot.

I book my appointments weeks in advance and look forward to them with great anticipation. A wonderful morning of pampering I say to myself, what could be better? Sitting there with nothing to do but flick through trashy magazines whilst I sip a fresh coffee, not a care in the world. And of course I look forward to how I will leave the salon feeling gorgeous and glamorous, casually strolling down the road with my new hair do pretending I look this good every day.

And no matter how many times I go to the hair dresser, after all these years, this is still what I expect.

In reality, it couldn't be more different. To start the whole thing off I always seem to rush in late and flustered. Then once I've been in the chair for about 5 minutes the awful truth comes crashing in on me. I, in fact, hate being at the hair dresser. Panic starts to rise as soon as she gets to work. 'Oh no..what if it is a total disaster' I suddenly think, ' It's going to look terrible', 'I'm never going to look like the picture I showed her'. I then have to sit trying to keep my bum glued the chair while the painstaking process unfolds, when all I want to do is run out the salon rather than risk the humiliation of a possible disaster hair do.

I have been developing my coping strategies for these situations. I try and flick through the magazines as a distraction, but the nerves keep me from being able to focus on any page longer than .5 of a second. Then there's the coffee, probably not the best beverage when your already a bundle of nerves. But I always order one thinking it will relax me as I sip it genteelly trying my best to keep a calm exterior. What a waste of time! I never get to drink the bloody thing as my head is always on some peculiar angle with hair draped over it. I'm not quite sure why the always insist on giving people drinks whilst getting their hair done. The amount of tea and coffee wasted by the hair dressing industry must be phenomenal.

So I have to opt for downing it as a quick cold shot when I get the chance, she's turned her back, quick gulp it down before it's too late! On Thursday when I was at one such appointment I knocked it back hoping it may have something stronger in it to calm my nerves. Perhaps I should start taking a hip flask in.

Of course the head massage is always something I can look forward to. I forget that by the time this part of the process comes around, my head as been laying on the basin for so long I have genuine concerns of lifelong paralysis developing or of convulsing in a major stroke of some description. Logic still evades me however as my concern over how my hair is going to look is of far greater concern than any form of major disability.

I've had some terrible outcomes at the hairdresser which is why I am so panicky each time I go there. Last Thursday was no exception. I went in blonde, expected to walk out blonde, but without the roots. I came out a horrible mousy brown. Not what I was after.

Fortunately these experiences have taught me the value of honesty. I managed to somehow pluck up the courage to tell the hairdresser exactly what I thought (actually it wasn't courage, it's just that being completely sleep deprived means I'm just that wee bit grumpy all the time which makes it a lot easier to speak my mind). So it was back to the salon on Saturday to relive the whole awful experience to get it fixed.

I'm not planning on making that mistake again, but no doubt my memory will fade and I will book my next appointment in a couple of months and start looking forward to my nice coffee and trashy magazines. When will I ever learn!?