I’ve had two makeovers in almost as many days. I’m beginning to forget what I look like normally.
Oh yes...a bit like this...
First up, Rachel and the teens took me in hand. They stuffed my hair in a streaking cap and yanked bits of it out with a crochet hook.
‘Is that okay?’ said Rachel. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Course not,’ I said. ‘It’s absolutely fine. I have a very high pain threshold. ‘
And it was fine – for the first five minutes. Then the cap started pressing in on my scalp.
‘Ow,’ I said plaintively.
‘Don’t be a wimp,’ said Rachel. ‘We’re almost done with the yanking.’
‘It’s not the yanking,’ I said. ‘It’s the bloody cap. Is it a child size or something? It’s compressing my scalp.’
‘Ah.’ It transpired that it belonged to Rachel’s mother and Rachel’s mother has a very small head. I, on the other hand (head?) have a large one (head). And a hell of a lot of hair.
‘Ow ow.’ I moaned quietly.
‘Shut up!’ chorused Rachel, R (15) and H (13). My godson (7) frowned a little and went back to writing his horror story. Charlie peered over his laptop and rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you women put yourselves through all this,’ he said in that irritatingly superior way men affect when talking about women’s beauty rituals.
I wasn’t entirely sure either at this point. It had seemed like such a good idea. Now it just hurt.
‘Ow, ow, ow.’
‘Get a grip!’
‘Oooh, it’s going orange,’ said R.
‘Great. Time to take it off, huh?’
‘Oooh no. It needs to go really really blonde.’
And then they all just upped and left me.
‘Er, excuse me,’ I said, having plundered their DVD library and made myself a cup of tea and whimpered a bit more. ‘What kind of salon do you call this? You can’t just wander off and leave your clients mid-agony with one vast wet dog and two ninja fighting cats for company.’
‘Oh sorry, ‘ said Rachel. ‘Where are you going on holiday this year?’
I glared at her and she shrugged. ‘Okay, that was below the belt.’
And so it went on. They finally deemed it was ‘cooked’ and took off the cap.
‘Bloody hell,’ said R, a look of wonder on her face. ‘It really was tight.’
‘It’s sort of given you instant Botox,’ said Rachel, peering.
‘Well, that’s okay, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Well, yes…except for the bit where it’s given you a big ridge over your eyebrows.’
So they washed it off, stuck on what they said was ‘copper’ and let that do its thing. Then washed that off and chucked in ‘lowlights’ (bright red). And then washed it again and conditioned it. No wonder I don’t do this hair malarkey – it takes way too long. I could have written a novella in the time it all took.
‘You do condition your hair, don’t you?’ said R, fixing me with the beady look of a school teacher.
I shook my head.
‘No wonder it’s a wild frizz.’
What could I say? Guilty as charged.
Then they sprayed it with something or other and then R got out the hairdryer and started beating me round the head with it. And then out came the straighteners.
‘Your parting’s in the wrong place,’ said R, yanking it over to one side. ‘Ah, that’s better. Now you just need a fringe.’
‘Absolutely. And I absolutely know how to do it. I’ve watched people do this. You just…’
‘No.’ Rachel gave her The Look.
‘Absolutely not.’ (Rachel)
‘No buts. We have maimed Jane’s head. That’s enough.’
So she did my nails instead, with some kind of clever magnetic thing that made them look like blue snakeskin.
|sort of like this...|
And I drove off, absolutely hours later, with hair about four inches longer than I’d gone in with (when did it get so long?), wild slapper nails and the remains of a compression headache. But really, it was very good fun indeed. And my hair is very very shiny.
Except... no way is that copper. J
And yeah...I know. But really it DOES look different. A bit.