As I sat in front of the mirror this morning getting ready for a new term in school, I wondered why I was finding it such a chore to blowdry my hair. Then it struck me.
I haven't washed my hair in a fortnight.
Oops, let me quickly rephrase that. I haven't washed my own hair in a fortnight.I have gotten so used to popping across the road to Ibrahim's hairdressers where my biggest decision was
"What mod-el would you like this evening?"
I had gone for the up, the down, the flicked out, the curly and the turned under look. I was running out of ideas.
So one fateful evening I said to Ibrahim to "surprise" me. He was delighted to have free reign. He back-combed, clipped and sprayed with extra stronghold spray. When I went back to the apartment Emma tried to supress a titter and said
"You look like you're going to your Debs!"
I thought about washing it again and then said
"Feck it. I didn't have a Debs myself, so why not have one now!"
The reason for the non-existant Debs was that the year of my Leaving Cert the nuns decided that there were too many starving people in the world and that we shouldn't have a Debs!!!
I never saw the logic in that. It's not that we sent the money we would have squandered on a night out over to Africa. So it didn't benefit anyone.
So I finally had my Debs in Turkey........27 years later.
This is a photo of my hair when we came home at stupid o'clock in the morning. I had taken out the 72 clips.....and it still never budged an inch!!!!