This was at the Chichester Festival Theatre in 2019. We like to catch several productions each year and missed these outing in 2020. This is just to show my hair in better cared for days. A noble effort though for Steve to be brave enough to cut my hair this week after a long care lapse during lockdown.
Just as a temporary measure I needed to take a desperate change in my grooming habit. It has now been over ten months since I last had a visit from my hairdresser, who in fact is my friend and neighbour who lives immediately opposite our home. February 28th 2020 to be precise, just before we went into lockdown for the first time. In the ten months my hair colour had grown out about five inches and my curly hair that has never liked being any longer than that start before it start to be first fizzy and then very dry at the ends. Still there was nothing to do about that but do nothing. The last time I spoke to my hairdresser friend over the road I had talked hair with her, and mentioned how dry my ends were. She said “Can’t you get Steve to cut it for you”, I had laughed at the time thinking that my husband cutting my hair would be an unimaginable horror. Another month later; I after I had taken a bath and washed my hair, yesterday in fact, I mentioned to Steve that I was going to try to cut my dry ends off myself since I looked as though I had connected my fingers to the electricity. It was totally unmanageable and the only way was to tie it back in scrunchies.
To my surprise Stephen immediately said, “I can cut it for you that would be much easier”, and he went on to say that I could tell him what to do and how hard could it be anyway? He promptly went an took a chair into the kitchen where there was the best light at that time. I fetched the scissors, a comb and some clips to separate my hair bit by bit. Full of confidence he set off with me sitting in the victim/director’s chair. I told him only to cut one centimetre at a time of each small strand but if it was still looking dry to take off a teeny-weeny bit more. I made no further comment at all even though as I suspected there was about 2-3 centimetres coming off and landing on the tidy pile that he was building. It seemed to me that he could not do that much harm, except to any semblance of style that was left after such a long interval. As mentioned earlier here my hair had grown roughly 5 inches in the absence of a star hairdresser like my friend, and after all my hair grows like grass and always has, so no matter what it looked like after ‘Sweeny Todd the Demon Barber’, had attacked my precious 'Barnet', it would not be a total disaster because it would grow again at the same rate of knots.
He got through the process pretty speedily and I did not complain that, yes, he had taken off a bit more than instructed; indeed there blonde off-cuts, enough to generously line a Crow’s nest. I thanked him for volunteering for such a dangerous task and he said, “I don’t know who was the bravest actually, you for trusting me to do it, or me for risking death if I did it really badly”.
I went up to the bathroom with the comb and scissors in my hands to take a look at the damage. I was quite relieved to see that it was not too bad at all. I spotted a couple of places where there was still a longer strand or two here and there and snipped those off myself, at the same length Stephen had opted for. It wasn’t a bad job and of course it didn’t matter at all if it was not perfect, because my hair does grow very quickly. Actually, it feels fine, much softer than it was with the horrid dried ends on. There is still about five of six inches of the blondish colour left and I plan to let it grow out entirely and let the grey have its way, until it turns entirely white. I am long past being concerned about beauty and must make sure that I am satisfied with the beauty that comes from within.
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