A pampered hair cut

This morning I planned for one thing, there were considerations but the one thing had to be done more than the others. To get my hair cut. It is simple enough getting hair trimmed but with the demands of six and seven day working weeks this can become difficult in itself. I chose to hit a different hair dresser. Not completely different, just a shop I'd been to a couple of years ago and stopped going.  Getting hair cut isn't like choosing a new car, you get a hair cut many times a year, so I choose to go where I choose to go. I'm not a slave to the habit of a single hair dresser. Further I don't like the idea of any hairdresser getting a bit over smug they got a constant and reliable customer go there. So I spread myself about, depending how I feel. If only it was as easy with going to the dentist, getting a hair cut is a hell of a lot less pain inducing.

So I tried a little bit of chat on the hair dresser but he didn't seem to want to engage a great deal. I think he was run off his feet. A trainee finished off my neck and just as I was about to get out of the chair it had been reclined and he said, he hadn't finished. Next was a hot towel over my face, which is a bit odd considering I have a beard still. Why on earth use a hot towel on my face. I tried to relax into it. He pressed the towel into my face, a glowing warmth permeated through. The relaxing bit wasn't so difficult. I kept my eyes shut and he removed the towel. Then a cream of some kind was put on my forehead and before I knew it my forehead and temples were being massaged. There was also the smell of some perfumed stuff. But hell I got a beard, which didn't seem to matter because he just spread it into my beard. I was starting to smell like a French tarts boudoir. The chair was raised into a sitting position then his fingers were massaging my neck and eventually my shoulders. What? This was good. More than attention than even Sparkling Eyes gives me, I mean she demands I do her feet but it's only like twice a year I ever get any kind of massage. Unless of course it happens to be the wooden massaging cow, then it's a quick run over my back and that's it. Blimey, this guy was doing a job or what. I liked it, but hell did I now smell.

I considering how perfumed I'd just become I decided to not get the bus, I'd of been the odd one out. Short, fat bearded man smelling like a whore on a hot date.  Feck, they should use non perfumed. It was nice though. I texted Sparkling and later had a very short conversation with her. She thought it was weird, and made aspersions. Hell, I didn't realise they could smell me in Scotland.