I had, as you may have cannily guessed, a not so good week last week. I just could not get the planets to align so that work/family/health all stacked up. And as they so often do everything went to pot, most of all my tenuous grip on sanity. Thursday was the culmination of everything bad about everything, including picking the girls up from daycare late (not my fault, or something I did willingly) which made them incredibly grumpy and irrational which did not help my over it sensibilities. The horrid news that greeted me when I turned the TV on was literally the icing on the shitful cake. Excuse the metaphor.
So Friday afternoon I left 90 minutes early (I dont' get paid overtime so I took my accumulated extra hours as some time in lieu) and went straight to my nearest shopping centre, looking for someone to cut my hair. I started at my usual budget "salon" and was actually kind of cheerful when they said they were booked solid, same for the almost-as-budget-not-known-for-style chain store across the mall. In the end I stopped outside the trendiest salon, where no one has a hair colour approaching that which they were born with and no style is complete without a completely random bit (often blue or green) sticking out to teh side. I've never been in this fancy establishment with its uberhip stylists and expensive products tastefully arranged to the side. Because a) I'm cheap and b) I have no style.
Anyhoo I walked in and they could fit me in directly. "Which stylist would you like?" Asked the girl at the front desk who looked as if a very artful bowerbird had styled her hair. "Um, er, whichever" was my articulate response before I was seated in front of the wall of horror, I mean mirrors, had a small Chinese cup of tea placed before me and was asked if I would like to flip thorugh some of their magazines. Looking at my clean but fluffy and completely non styled hair in the mirror as well as my overgrown eyebrows I cringed a little in my seat as I tentatively said muttered things about fringe and layers and no pouffiness. To which the hairdresser picked up a strand or two of my hair between her fingers and looked at it critically. "I think blah blah blah and blah blah blah would look good, and if we blah blah instead of blah blah blah and then blah it will really suit blah" she said enthusiastically. I just nodded like a loon and closed my eyes and let her do her work.
I love having my hair washed and I love the products they use in salons. I should buy them for myself but have never let myself be so indulgent before. Anyway back to the story, after the hair wash and massage, I closed my eyes as she snipped away with the scissors letting precise tendrils fall around me. She tutted occasionally about my blunt layers, telling me that careful *something I don't remember* layers would suit my face a lot more. I just made affirming mmmm noises and let her do her work. She then got out the hairdryer so she could cut the rest of my hair dry, spritzing in a little of this and massaging in a soupcon of that.
Halfway through blowdying she told me in a surprised voice that I have the most beautiful hair, which I attribute to the fact that as I don't colour or heat style my hair it's in pretty good (if unstylish) condition, which set me apart from every other purple tinted and hairsprayed fashionista in there. But anyhoo after blow drying it into shiny submission (why can I never manage to make mine do that??) she then snipped away at the front and back and perfected tiny little razorlike snips all over.
And when I opened my eyes even the stylist chick was doing a double take. She had literally taken about 5 years off my face and turned my hideous unstyled mumzy hair into something that made others pay attention. Not ridiculous or ultra modern or anything like that, just something other than blah. I even bought one of the styling products because it made my hair so shiny without looking greasy which is really really difficult with dark hair. I didn't even flinch paying the bill at the end (not that exorbitant) and could not help swishing my perfect hair as I walked, already feeling a billion times better.
While I had been at that salon I had enquired about waxing to be told that they don't do it, but that they were happy to book me in at the Ella Bache upstairs if that was suitable, and summarily informed me that they would expect me at 4pm. I had half an hour to kill in between appointments so I went to the Body Shop to look at luxe products. I must have looked like I was going to indulge in retail therapy because the assistant was falling over herself to help me look at and sample products. With good reason, because being in a completely indulgent and "I have yet to actually buy ME anything with my paycheque" mood, I wanted to buy something, anything. After about 3 laps of the store with my faithful shadow behind me I noticed the "aromatherapy" range including the one linked there. I had to have it, even smelling that strong lavender/chamomile blend was calming me down. So I plonked it and a few other bits and pieces on the counter and walked out with a paper bag full of goodies Just For Me.
I then had my eyebrows waxed into perfection and left the shopping centre looking like a 27 year old that cares about herself instead of a frazzled 30ish mother of 2 with no shame. It's such a cliche to go get your hair *done* or to *put on a nice frock* when life is dumping on you, but obviously I am a cliche. When I do go to effort and take some time for me I do feel immeasurably better. Especially if I smell like expensive hair products and French Lavender.
Anyhoo, highly stylised pic for the nosy.
I also started going back to the gym and riding/jogging which is nice and has given me (and Harry) a nice little endorphin rush and I feel like I can actually cope with stuff again. Which is nice. Enough guff, hope you all have a nice week too.