Bad Hair Day

Until we moved to the island I thought a Bad Hair Day was when you had lost your hairbrush or were just having a lousy day in general. Bad Hair Day here has taken on a far greater significance and should in fact be renamed Bad Hair Week or even Bad Hair Month. I'm seriously considering taking out some of my party wigs. Maybe the fun Afro one.

The Jackie O Bad Hair Deep Disguise

There are really only two salons (plus 1 mobile stylist who is brilliant) who can do 'expat' hair. Problem is with Tyler's revolting hours, working & kids I only have about a 2 hour window when all the stars align so that I can have some highlights.

You have no idea how hard this is to arrange. The waiting lists are always long and none of the  "can I come in at 3 next Tuesday?" but rather a major rethink and reshuffle of your life in order to manage the single opportunity offered up, convenient or not. 

Hairdresser A cancelled (yes, I know it's meant to be the other way around) twice in a row on me - and this was after a 2 week wait, at which stage I went to Hairdresser B, who can only really cut hair super-short and nuke it a rather tiresome orangey-blonde colour. After the usual 30 minutes of reading 2008 Cosmopolitans and a failure to find my card ("what's your name again?") I generally end up feeling the middle-aged desperado I look by the time I finally get to the salon.

Anyhow this week - after almost 18 months of impeccable behaviour on my part, I had the audacity to be 20 minutes late (after a client meeting overshot) for my long-anticipated appointment. Cue for snooty Hairdressr B to inform me that I had missed my slot and forgone my chance. I went "ballistic" (boys favourite term for me) the minute the phone went down and demanded of my husband that he drive me to the airport so that I could fly to Puerto Rico (he reminded me that the hairdressers can only speak Spanish there) at which point  I demanded Miami. I wanted a salon with champagne and glitz, with lots of hunky hairdressers called Gavin and loud disco anthems. Now. Today.

Of course I've had to go back to Hairdresser A, wait another week for an appointment and she has already, rather ominously asked me for my cell number "in case of cancellations". Better bloody not.

Otherwise it's the Afro wig for me, which is going to look really odd at my next client meeting.