Tress Trauma Thursday Beauty Care

The eagle-eyed among you will notice a deviation from my usual Thurday alliteration. There'll be no Talon-tastic post today, I'm afraid, because I am too busy crying into my computer at the state of my hair for any NOTD fun 'n' frolics.

I am just home from the hairdresser, and since it's a little over six months since I last got my hair done you'd be forgiven for thinking that whatever way the gruaig is now, it's surely to Christ better than when I crossed the threshold of the hairdressers at 1.30pm this afternoon.

Ahaaahahaha haaaaaaaaaaaaa.

No. It is not. So that's saying something.

I asked for a mix of lowlights and highlights, with the emphasis on lowlights to tone down and move away from the old blonde. The hairdresser and I discussed whether I'd like to stay somewhere near the colours I'd gone with before - cue holding up ends to roots - and I said no, even that was too bright. Words like "honey blonde" and "dark blonde" and "light brown" were used. Lovely, I thought, but more of that anon.

I asked for a trim, keeping my current long layered stylee but just taking everything up by half an inch or an inch. Sounds safe enough, right? Well, the trim I received was wojus. I was given the same style as the 11 year old girl whose locks had been given the chop while my colour developed - a straight across blunt cut, swiftly followed by the usual "Is that alright for you now?"

Used to people doing things like point cutting and feathering and razoring and slicing and dicing and, y'know, shaping hair properly as the norm, I was a bit shell-shocked. I had to ask her to chop into the ends to take the blunt look off, "because my hair is so straight that I don't tend to wear it in quite such a blunt cut" I said apologetically. Like a fecking eejit.

I had to dredge up quite a bit of assertiveness to ask her to go again when Round 1 only included the bare front of my hair.

I'm still not happy with the cut, but I couldn't bring myself to really get into it with great heaps of customers piling up in the waiting area right beside me and silently willing me to eff off.

Ah, but the colour, sez you! Is the colour lovely? It sounds lovely. Does it make up for the "cut"?

No. Not so much.

In the light of the salon, it looked okay - a bit more similar to my existing colour than I'd have liked or was expecting, but sure at least the roots were gone.

In Real Life, it is the blondest I have been since 2003. I haven't revisted that level of blonde - until today - for the simple reason that it doesn't suit me and washes me out. My hair is now full of lumpy, chunky, ash/white blonde multi-stripes that are as close to "honey blonde" as I am to being named the next Pope.

Himself is, of course, providing a sympathetic ear. Not. "Just go back into them and tell them you're not happy with it!" sez he. Simples. Only... I cannot complain in person to save my life.

I am seriously contemplating making a pilgrimage to Donnybrook tomorrow and begging Wilde to squeeze me in to fix it.

That'll learn me to shop local.