Bad hair days

Yesterday a large, rough-looking gentleman presented himself at my door for a hair appointment. He was the dog groomer. In my head dog groomers looked a little different, less bikie like. He whisked Isobel up into his huge arms and told me he would be back in an hour. He had a red van, a doggy spa, attached to his car. I got on with some work.

Some time later, he presented me with what was left of my dog. Turns out, Isobel was not the dog I thought she was. She now resembles some sort of rat. Under all that fluff, well there was not much. One member of my family called her ugly and will not walk with her in public until she grows back her fluff.

How cruel.

But it got me thinking about my own disastrous hair styles, of which there were many. And they started when I was young.

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But it was the seventies and I know that I was not alone in sporting a pudding bowl cut.

As I got older there were 3 instances of when quick decisions when it came to my hair, saw me come completely undone.

Once, in high school, a hairdresser asked me if I wanted an undercut. “Sure!” I told her and she proceeded to shave the back of my head off. At the time I was enrolled in a fancy pants school and they were not amused. You had to wear your hair up at this establishment, but they allowed my to wear mine down until it grew out. They were terrified that this style might start a trend and gave stern lectures about the acceptable styles and standards, of which I had failed spectacularly.

Another swift decision a few years later, saw me getting about town with skunk stripes. The hairdresser convinced me that this was going to look amazing! At the end, she was less enthusiastic about the result and basically pushed me out the door. I had four, large stripes of pure white which divided my head up into quarters. Oh it was nasty my friends. Na…..sty.

And finally, the year was 2004. A very tired new mum was pushing her pram randomly around town. She caught a reflection in a shop window and was horrified. Who was that fat, greasy haired slob? The realisation dawned. It was her.

Into the nearest hair salon she marched and told the hairdresser to chop all her hair off immediately. The results were extremely grim, for her hair, yeti hair, without the weight sprung up in untamable ways. She looked 100% worse.

That lady was me.

The rules for my hair now are simple. Try to keep it as close to its natural colour as possible and wear it in a ponytail every single day. Wash on occasion. And do not get adventurous. I have learnt my lesson but oh how I yearn for a short crop! You gals who can get away with such as style, you are lucky.

Do you have a hair disaster story?

Perm anyone?