a haircut

I went for a haircut this morning, arriving rather early because I'd allowed for traffic and it was too cold to wander about window shopping.  My hairdresser was still busy with her previous client, who was in the middle of having her hair coloured and sitting with pieces of foil all over her head.  As I sat waiting with my great head of wildly curly grey hair I thought that hairdressers needed to be total diplomats.  My hair is wonderful, naturally, and her last customer was also entirely right to spend a great deal of money and half the morning having the grey skilfully eliminated.

The third customer was a small girl.  From where I was sitting I couldn't initially see her, but gathered from the overheard conversation that she was six, she was in year one, her hair had been growing since she was two, and she was having enough of it chopped off to be worthwhile donating to the Little Princess charity that makes wigs for child cancer patients.  There were before and after photographs taken on the hairdresser's phone, and talk of putting pictures on Facebook if Mummy said that was OK.  Apparently the way to do the big chop, which I suppose keeps the hair nicely together for the wig makers, is to plait it first and then cut off the plaits, before giving the remains a proper haircut.

Once it was my turn the hairdresser told me that this time she was going to trim the ends and continue to chip weight out of it, but that she did not need to take it in any more at the back because by now it was already in a bob, and I told her that she was the expert and I didn't understand any of it.  After that it was remarkable how removing what seemed like quite a small amount of hair, to judge from the quantity of debris, suddenly made it look much more like a hairstyle and less as if I had started living in my car.

The hairdresser's colleague had shaped the little girl's hair into a very smart cut that just skimmed her shoulders.  They fetched a mirror to show her the back, and my hairdresser showed me the plaits and I was duly impressed.  Actually, I think several little girls must agree to sacrifice their hair to produce enough for a whole wig.  After she had gone I reflected that there were not many things you could control in your life when you were six, but having your hair cut off was one of them.  It had been an elegant cut, that made the little girl look very poised, and possibly older.  Ah, said the hairdresser's colleague, that would be why Daddy wasn't keen on her having it done.

I made my next appointment for eight weeks' time and trundled on my way.  The hair foils woman was still sitting in her chair.  She gave me half a smile as I passed her, each of us probably secretly convinced of the superiority of our chosen method.