Diary of a Bad Hair Day

Friday 13th. An apposite date to be having a bad hair day I suppose. And now that it’s Saturday and I have plenty of time to fix things on the hair front it’s all like a bad dream…

7am Alarm goes off. Hit the snooze button, roll back over to continue delicious dream.
7.10 Alarm goes off. Hit the snooze button again.
7.20 Alarm finally shrieks through to conscious mind. Silence it and doze another ten minutes before finally throwing back the duvet
7.30 Stumble into bathroom. Catch sight of hair in mirror. Like something from Bridget Jones’s Diary it has transformed itself into some horrible creation of peaks and troughs overnight. I went to bed with my hair still damp the night before and it took the opportunity to rebel against me. No time to wash it now, panic sets in.
7.45 Three cats cross my path. On a day like today that should be lucky, but none of them are black and all of them are clamouring to be fed. Spoon Whiskas into bowls and root out the hair straighteners. Breaking all my own rules I know but this is an EMERGENCY! Blast hair with GHD Iron Oil (don’t know if this stuff works, but I use it as a talisman against the evil ravages of the straighteners).
7.50 Marginally better. A few squirts of John Frieda smoothing balm stuff and it will have to do.
7.55 Mad late now.
8.01 In car at last, traffic bumper to bumper, chew a piece of cold toast. Meeting with The Boss first thing and I’m still not over my hair trauma. Catch sight of myself in the rear view mirror - it’s not pretty.


Spend the whole day hating hair, going into the loos at every opportunity to wet bits of it, use all the random serums and other hair stuff that I keep in my desk drawer, to no avail. In the end, constrain it into a severe ponytail, clip back the front part, and resign myself to looking like crap.

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