I had a traumatic experience on Wednesday. It involved flashbacks, anxiety, envy, a pair of scissors and some money.
On Wednesday I took my daughter somewhere that brought back pleasant memories for me. It reminded me of relaxing and pleasant times in my past that will never happen again.
I took her to the hairdressers.
I sat in a chair watching from afar while the hairdresser did her thing to Hannah’s hair. I reminisced about how relaxing it was when I used to have my hair cut. There was something so calming about having someone cut my hair while making small talk about where I was going on my holidays and what I did for a living (which often led to: “Oh”-style responses).
Now I normally cut my own hair with a pair of clippers. No, it doesn’t take long – thanks for asking. But before my Mum’s wedding last year I decided to treat myself and went to a nearby Barber’s shop. As I went in the barber looked at me and paused.
“Thank you for not laughing,” I said. I then confirmed that I was there for a haircut. I wanted him to clip my hair.
It was unsatisfactory for several reasons:
- It did not take long at all. Not even long enough for him to find out my holiday plans.
- I felt rather silly sitting in the chair with other customers looking on and wondering why I was bothering.
- At the end of the haircut the barber charged me a couple of quid less than full price!