Taking the Poodle to the Groomers

This week I went to my hairdresser. I am in the process of growing my hair out a little but and I was looking rather bedraggled. My hair was discussed with regards to colour and style and there was a unanimous decision make that the mullet, whispering on the back of my neck, was not in my best interest, so off it came.

Snip, snip, snip, comb, snip, snip, snip!

And eventually we were done. I looked in the mirror to find I was now sporting a very smooth, short shiny bob. Something in me had changed.

“Thanks ladies! I am off to take the poodle to the groomers….”

I had morphed into North Shore Trophy Wife with one simple haircut. Well a larger version anyway. With my bob and my fob, I started feeling foreign urges that I hadn’t felt before. I had sensible hair.

I felt the urge to upgrade to an Audi and put private school stickers on the back of it. I felt the urge to join Roseville Golf Club. I wanted to spend the day getting my colon flushed out at the Gillian Adams Salon and Spa. I wanted to drop $250 on a Puffa Jacket at Luluemon.

Why was I fighting the urge to sip chardonnay in Double Bay?

I suddenly needed to poach some trout. Was I being a traitor by not offering to host a fundraiser for the Liberal Party? Was I being a negligent parent for not sending my kids to Knox? What would people think if they knew we purchased our wine from Aldi?

Was I willing to line up for half an hour to have the lobster bagel at Goodfields?

Or would it be better to sit in the car at Artarmon KFC carpark scoffing a Zinger Burger alongside the dozen other Mums do daily, sitting in their active wear in their black European SUVs….

I caught up with a friend later in the day and over a glass of Aldi Wine, she told me that it was a great cut and I looked a “bit like Kris Jenner before she got cool….

And then I went to bed. A little of that story line from movies like BIG, I feel Pretty and 13 going on 30, I woke up and the feelings had gone.

I looked into the mirror and the shiny, perfect bob had been replaced by disobedient hairs sticking up in directions that defy the normal rules of gravity. I had no interest in sticking a hose up my bum and I just wanted a coffee and the kids to get on the damn school bus so I could be left in peace. To fold clothes, do the grocery shopping, pick up dog shit from my overgrown lawn and yell at talkback radio.

Situation normal. I never liked trout anyway. Far too fishy for me.

When it comes to your current hairstyle, what does it say about you?