End of The Quest

I've been on a quest. I have previously posted about my search for the perfect hairdresser. It has been a long and arduous search littered with traumatic experiences and very dodgy hair styles.

Today I believe I have reached the end of my quest. I walked out of a hair salon this morning without the feeling of frustration and annoyance. It was wonderful. Finally I was happy with the end result.

So many ticks of approval:

I was straight into the chair as soon as I arrived. No double booking or sitting around waiting to be squeezed in between someone else's colour and cut. I was on time and so was my hairdresser. Ok, I admit I had the first appointment of the morning, but hey, some of the hairdressers I have been to during the search have still managed to screw this up.

My hairdresser understood me. I don't speak the same language as hairdressers and have enormous difficulties explaining what I want. When asked what I would like to have done, I froze-up as usual and mumbled
                         “It's kinda flat. Can you make it un-flat”.
                         She responded with “Yep, I can do that. Would you like flicky bits and well as un-flat”
"Flicky bits" is a term I understand.  As promised, I now have flicky bits on my un-flat parts.

Decent coffee is a simple but effective way to make me love you forever. Bring me a second cup (with extra biscuits) and I'm your slave for life.

It took me a while to realise why I was feeling incredibly calm: No gossipy chatter. My hairdresser didn't feel the need to engage me in a conversation about size of Beyonce's bum or how Brad is better off without that skanky ho (something I have no opinion on). It was bliss.

The pièce de résistance: a massage chair. Oh happiness!! I was so relaxed I could have wet myself with joy. But wait, it gets better: a head massage that was just right. Too often the head massage is a wimpy little pat. Come on, don't be afraid to do a bit of damage. Dig your fingers in and see of you can get me beg for mercy. Make it feel really good when you stop.

Only one little negative:

The choice of radio station leaves much to be desired. Tuning in to the commercial radio stations can be a little dangerous when the host is a true bottom feeder. This guy (I will not sully my blog with his name) is lower than pond scum. The only reason I didn't put my fist through the radio was I was drooling uncontrollably in the massage chair and couldn't get my legs to function properly.

I'm now sitting at home with my marvellous flicky, un-flat hair. What a waste! This hair needs to be taken out on the town. I have party hair with nowhere to go. Can I go out tonight? No. I have to go to a committee meeting with a bunch of old crusties. Tragedy! I think I'll wear a short skirt and see if I can cause a heart-attack or two.