Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Hair Raising Experience

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!!!!