Bad Hair Day

Going to the hairdresser for me, is almost as bad as going to the dentist or the gynaecologist. In Luxembourg, the bill at the end is probably higher than that of a dentist or gynaecologist. A sharp intake of breath is obligatory at payment. That said, as soon as I get home I brush it back to its usual style. I am not happy with my hair.
The last salon I went to in Luxembourg, dates to two years ago. I went to the salon JD for a style or 'brushing' as they call it here. That is, a normal blowave, as my eldest son had graduated and the ball was that night. The chap (very trendy, as this is an upmarket place ) asked me what I was wearing for the evening. I replied 'A tailleur'. He said 'Then I'll do something soft'. Well when he'd finished, it looked like I'd spent all afternoon gardening and had my hair caught in the trees. The 'Tossed salad' look comes to mind. 'Redo it', I commanded and I came out with a simple bob and was 80 euros poorer.

I usually take the opportunity to go to the hairdresser while I'm in Positano. My favorite bloke is at the top of the hill. I have been going to him since he opened and he always takes the opportunity to walk out and greet me by name if he sees me walk past. Prices don't come near those in Luxembourg, but the real reason I go is because he is very polite, professional and also unspeakably cute. My last visit dates to Easter this year. I told him that I wanted a shoulder length cut and he could do what he thought best suited me. I was suitably chastised. He started by cutting two great wallops off the side, then scaling it all. By the time he'd finished, I resembled my mother, where as before, I'd resembled my daughter ! It seemed that the more he took off, the more the years piled on.
When my sister saw my shorn look, she quipped: 'You were probably shrugging your shoulders when you said you wanted it shoulder length!'.