When I first started Sophie, I wrote about a wonderful hair salon experience I had at Mieka Hairdressing.
So why I cheated on my hairdresser today is something I’m still asking myself. That’s right. I cheated. I went to another hair salon near where I now live. Don’t.Go.There. Ever. I now look like I have a small stripy cat on my head. The type of cat that gets left behind at the pet shop because it’s so ugly and not as cute as the other little cats and then before you know it the little cat is an actual cat and it gets sent off to the cat farm where they kill it, skin it, and then send the fur to hairdressers to use as a colour swatch to show unsuspecting people who are paying a retarded amount of money to get their hair dyed.
That last sentence got a little bit too creative, because I wasn’t shown a colour swatch of stripy cat like hair, I was shown a picture of a blonde bombshell and then I was told I would look Exactly Like The Blonde Bombshell In The Picture and I was all happy and smiley and then somehow when they were mixing the colours out the back, that’s when they obviously got confused and mixed the stripy cat colour.
Then they put it on my head.
So, naturally, as they were drying my hair and it was dawning on me that my hair did not, in fact, look blonde or bombshelly, I was a bit um… huh. It looks a bit… um.
And they’re all oooohing and aaaahing and calling me ‘babe’ (for anyone who read the other post on hairdressers, you know I hate this) and saying stupid crap like ‘you look so fierce!’ Well of course I do. I look like I should have claws. And possibly fangs. And like I should be swapped with a zoo in Japan to mate with their male stripy animal and then have a baby animal that will be put in a special exhibit and the public will get to name the baby animal and they’ll choose a stupid name that people like because it sounds kinda African and they can pretend the zoo is actually a scene from The Lion King.
So I go home. And I look at my head in the mirror. And I’m like, yes, this is all stupid. So I do the grown up thing and call and say yeeeeah, hiiiiiiii, looooook… I got home, and I’ve had another look at my hair and I’m not entirely happy with it-
‘What’s wrong with it.’ (I omitted the question mark there on purpose. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.)
‘Well, I think it’s a little too dark. And I’m afraid the ends are a little… blocky.’
‘You mean stripy.’
‘Look. I just talked to Bonnie, (who the frack is Bonnie??) and she agrees that I am always really careful with my foils and I never do a stripy colour.’
Well that’s just great. Bonnie doesn’t have a cat on her head, does she? Well, she might have for all I know. I still have no idea who Bonnie is. And then stupid hairdresser girl tells me that she can’t do anything about it because if she puts any more colour in my hair it will damage it too much. So apparently I’m supposed to either have damaged hair, or a zoo animal on my head. Well isn’t that just keen. She offers to have a look at it ‘next week sometime’ if I’m still unhappy but she is very doubtful she can do anything with it. But she could try ‘if I want’.
No. I do not want. I don’t want you anywhere near my head again you masochistic cow.
So I’ve called the lovely Sarah at Mieka who has booked me in on Tuesday to fix me. I should never have cheated in the first place. I will go in wailing with apologies and love and maybe she’ll give me a free treatment or something. Doubtful, because this is my fault and I cheated on her, not the other way round. But I know she will fix me.
I still have to live through three days of having stupid hair though.