Who's the Weirdo With Five Colours in Her Hair?

I heart my Hairdresser.

I do.

I don't go very often, because realistically I hate people touching my hair. There are several hairdressers in Troon who have suffered me loosing the place with them, straightening out the last curl to perfection. Wash it, cut it, blast it with the dryer and leave me alone. That's the way to deal with it.

On Saturday morning, I had hair to my shoulders. I was begining to resemble Crystaltipps due to the unruly nature of my hair, and it's inability to grow further down than my shoulders, only out.

Age is against me now, as is my husband's wishes. Whilst I would love to go for the 2inch all over again, with a bit of pink thrown in for good measure, I have to retain a look of mature womanhood.

So off to P I go. Wet hair, save the bother of her washing it for me, one less trauma for me to go through. Choppy Bob I say. Choppy Bob you will have.

45 minutes later I leave. Smoothed to perfection. Up to my ears. Am delighted.

Gets up this morning. Washes hair, leaves. Goes into garden, mows the lawn to combine movement with hair drying.

Result : Lovely bouncy bob; not a brush or curlers have touched my hair.

Even Better Result: Daughter says "that hair cut has taken 30 years off you.

I AM 17 Again!!!

Yay!

Thank you P.