The Chop Chat

... I hate having my hair cut.

Unfortunately, a while back I was the victim of an excruciatingly bad hair cut. Much like a magpie to anything shiny, I am a sucker for any sort of posh or fanciful looking salon - on this occasion, the rainbow room was my shiny. Little did I know, less than an hour later I would emerge with less than half the hair I went in with. And £40 lighter. And, well - BLOODY MISERABLE.

But that's not the worst of it. 

Picture this - I'm sitting there with soaking wet hair, under a hairdressing cape that might as well be steel chains pinning me to the seat - and the hairdresser starts talking about her failed marriage. Wait, I'm not ready for this. Ten minutes ago I was reading a gossip magazine from 2008 in reception - now I'm Dr Phil? I was torn between crippling under the immense pressure to comfort this jilted young woman, and fearing that she was going to picture her ex husband on the back of my head and start hacking. By the end of the appointment, she had told her story, vented her feelings... and I looked ah-mazing. Seriously, I felt like tracking down this good for nothing ex-husband and high fiving the bastard. I admit, I continued going to Karen for some time - but with time and acceptance over her divorce, came mediocre haircuts... it was time to cut her off.

My next hairdresser was promising. A young woman named Cara with a pretty face and beautiful hair. I probably would have hated her had she not been the nicest person ever. Everything started out so well - she understood me, laughed at my jokes, washed my hair... until BAM. Her Army boyfriend sent her a dildo from Afghanistan. And she was ready to tell me all about it.

WHAT IS HAPPENING. I had to play this cool. Anger and bitterness brought me a great haircut from Karen... but I wasn't sure how Cara's horn was going to fare on my do. Thirty minutes of sex toy chat later, with one word answers, and the occasional "I'm-pretending-to-agree-with-you" nod, I made it out unscathed. I never saw Cara after that - nymphos aren't really my thing.

I was almost sure it was third time lucky with Craig - a twenty something guy with a blonde afro and a nose ring in a trendy west end salon. I figured less shiny, more trendy might work for me. I now had to include a subway ride to the price of my haircut though - what's a girl gotta do for a quiet life? Craig was just what I needed - he liked talking about movies, and music, and his band. Yes, I had to fake a little bit of enthusiasm when he spoke about his latest performance with Fire Exit, or Exit Stage Left, or Exit through the gift shop or whatever they were called...but it was a worthy sacrifice. Then one fateful day, I showed up for my usual cut and dry - hold the emotional baggage - and something terrible happened. Craig's friend Jay had gotten engaged. Why Jay? Why are you doing this to me?! I'm sure Craig wouldn't have felt the need to bring it up - but his girlfriend was less than pleased that Jay had been with his fiance half the time she and Craig had been together. Where was her ring, Craig? Craig seemed to think I held all the answers. I did not.

I left that day knowing I would never see Craig again. I think - on some level - he knew. But it didn't make it any easier.

Female, 23, seeking highly skilled and emotionally vacant hairdresser.