Thursday, 6 November 2014

I am also a hairdresser


I was not always such a great hairdresser. It takes time and practice.

True story: my first hair cutting experience took place when aged 7, sleeping over at Eric's house. In the middle of the night I decided it would be great if we cut each other's hair. Eric was up for it. In the morning his mum gave us a puzzled look, then we snuck off to school all dishevelled and proud. 

But my mum knew every wave of my lovely golden locks. At home time that day I felt the heat of her glare from across the playground. It was an especially angry glare because that was also the day of our school photo.

I had oft been told how beautiful and golden my hair was. Total strangers would stop us in the street. The man in the corner shop always asked if he could buy it. 'Pure Gold!' he would exclaim. So naturally that's why I cut it off and stored it in my pencil case. I have always had a knack for business. 

My mum did not quite agree when I explained my genius plan to her, even after offering her 50% of the profits. I thought we were poor and could do with some extra money, so why was she still upset?

 I eventually forgave my mum for her lack of enterprise, I never stayed over at Eric's house again, and that particular corner shop closed down, it never had the chance to be a white girls weave empire.

Back to the now, and I have become a much better hairdresser, more for the necessity of saving money rather than making any. As pictured here, one can see I have mastered a cute bob with only slightly wonky fringe. There's something Partridge-Family-ish to it. 



I take it my wriggly client is a happy customer as she's always so pleased when I've finished.

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