Hair

So I was having a bad hair day.  No, a really bad hair day…

Normally I get my hair trimmed every 18 months or so because I really don’t enjoy going to the hairdressers (too many dodgy cuts in the past).  I’d had it cut into a short bob before Christmas, though, on a whim.  Then, I’d warned the girls that I was going to get it cut and even showed them photos of me with a short bob before going to the hairdressers.  I’d thought they were prepped.  (After all, I remembered being shocked and hurt and horrified when my mum had got her long black hair cut shorter when I was 6 or 7).  Midi blinked at me, then asked for some apple juice.  But Maxi took one look at New Mummy and burst into tears.  It kind of takes the shine off ‘new hair happiness’, eh?

So on Bad Hair Saturday, with my hair a total grown-out mess, I didn’t expect the hairdresser to fit me in as soon as I called for an appointment.  I didn’t expect my mouth to merrily say, “Cut it all off”, when I only went for a trim.  I didn’t expect to be reassuring the hairdresser that it’d be ok and I’d not regret it. I didn’t expect to be pretty chuffed – the amazing woman managed to cut off all my grey hair!  Still, I texted The Boss on the long walk back home: ‘Brace yourself, it’s v short’.  Unfortunately he didn’t get it in time.

On seeing my short hair, The Boss blinked hard a few times.  Mini Minx didn’t know whether to smile or cry.  Maxi’s face was a picture – proper slack-jawed saucer eyes.  Midi giggled and declared, “You look like Rachel’s Dad now!”  Maxi sniggered and agreed.  And that was that.  They were all fine with it.

I updated my profile pic on Facebook and received loads of messages from my friends praising my new look.  I shouldn’t be so shallow, but their compliments made me feel very special and lovely.  If any of you are reading this: thank you!

But now I need to know – who the hell is Rachel’s Dad?!

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