Yesterday I went to the hairdresser. As a lady, a trip to the hairdresser isn’t just for a “quick trim”, it is a two – three hour affair involving three staff members fawning over you, dying, washing, cutting, styling.
That much time sitting looking at yourself in the mirror is pretty good time to do some quality thinking, and I usually use this time to analyse where I am in my life.
Usually a trip to the hairdresser leaves me feeling slightly grumpy but yesterday I left feeling slightly content. Because, for once, I didn’t over-think things.
I’m not sure why, perhaps it was because it was a nice day. Or because the man cutting my hair was an unusually attractive straight man (what are the odds?) or that the guy who put the cape on me had a rather amusing moustache. Or it could have been the numerous flirty messages I got from the holiday romance that allowed me to see the best about me in that mirror, rather than the worst.
It was hugely relieving and satisfying to tell the inner voice in my head to shut the fuck up for awhile. I may have to do it it more often.
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