I think my hairdresser is a terrorist

I don’t have a lot of luck with hairdressers. Actually, you could say my luck is downright woeful.

Hairdressers keep on leaving me, which I guess is just part of being a woman, but I was once caught up in an armed robbery mid-colour, and my most recent stylist turned out to be a terrorist.

Oh, I see your bemused expression – you think I mock, don’t you?

When I was pregnant with J, I was getting my hair coloured on a Thursday night when this dude in a balaclava stormed in with a bat. That’s when I learned beyond all doubt that I’m sissy. We were bundled into the storeroom, flat on the floor while he ransacked the place and took off with our handbags. I don’t think I whimpered. Then I had my cut finished off while the cops dusted for fingerprints.

The next few hairdressers left me again, always without warning.

The last one was special. Did you know that Osama Bin Laden didn’t kill anyone personally? She admired him actually. When I tried to regain my composure and think of something (anything) to say, I came up with “Well I guess some people admire Hitler for his ability to motivate people to an end goal…” Her response? Well he was just evil!

Tonight I tried again. Jackie was nice. She was easy to talk to. She does a good scalp massage, and doesn’t talk at that point. She did try to sell me overpriced salon-quality shampoo, and she did con me into the ‘treatment’ at the basin, but no-one’s perfect, right?

I came away with the cut I described, and the colour I picked.

It was a good start to our relationship.

Please don’t leave me Jackie!

And if you don’t hear from me again, her name was Georgi, and she really was a terrorist.