Can you get drunk in the hairdressers? No but you can fall asleep!

The big day has arrived. No I’m not getting married, no we’re not moving house, no it’s not even my birthday. I’m having my hair done!

The (wonderful) Bearded One surprised me with vouchers to a local chain of salons knowing full well if he told me to book an appointment that he would pay for, I wouldn’t do it. It’s not that I don’t want to have my hair done, it’s just there always seems to be more important things to spend our money, like food, fuel and formula! But the vouchers secured my treat and I was delighted. Clever husband. 

Having been pregnant FOREVER it meant hadn’t hair my hair cut (let alone coloured) in over a year. I’d fannied about with home colourants but they always give you the inevitable ginge tinge. 
I was so excited! Having avoided any nasty reactions to the skin test I was free to sit back and enjoy the pampering. Ooh I wonder if I could get a glass of fizz? 
The Bearded One is on baby duty and I’m under strict instructions to enjoy myself, don’t rush back, go shopping afterwards. I’m in heaven. I hope they are ok together and I don’t get a phone call half way through my highlights saying The Baby has activated asshole mode. To be honest they’ve bonded so beautifully I know he can handle it. If he can’t then he’ll have an even greater appreciation of my “bad days.”
I’m here! I’m in the chair with magazines and a coffee. The stylist I’m booked in with is finishing someone else so I’m told to relax. It occurs to me I have NO idea how to do this. I don’t know if that’s symptomatic of our culture nowadays where everything is accessible via your phone. Online banking, shopping, accessing your tv planner, now even the heating and lighting for your home. You can literally run your life from your phone! Amazing (and helpful for someone like me) but at the same a hinderance – you forget how to switch off. In fact “switching off” usually involves scrolling through social media platforms or various apps. So is it that? Is it a result of becoming a mother? Feeling guilty for having some time to yourself? Feeling like there’s a million and one things you could be doing instead? Or it could just be a personality trait/flaw. 
Regardless I take a deep breath and sip my coffee. My roasting hot, delicious coffee. Now THIS is heaven. Not only am I able to drink it hot, I can use both hands AND I’m not jiggling anything or anyone. What’s this? Tiny biscuits? Hello! 
I’m engrossed in reading the latest celebrity disaster, sipping my coffee as if it’s my death row drink and dunking my tiny biscuit as my stylist comes over (the stylist assigned to me. Not my personal stylist!) We discuss the disaster that is my hair, how to rectify it and of course The Baby. 45 minutes later I’m on my second delicious coffee, head full of foils and eating my 4th tiny biscuit. Having checked in with The Bearded One that everything is ok I sit back and relax. Actually relax. 
The stylist comes over and says its time to wash out the foils. Laying my head back into the sink I embrace the feeling of having my hair washed without having to switch the shower off 35 times thinking I can hear crying. The water is so warm and I’m being treated to a head massage, a calm relaxing head massage. I can feel my eyes getting heavy. Maybe I’ll just close them for a second. 
“Wakey wakey”. Oh. My. God. I apologise profusely, head still in the sink. I panic, how long have I been asleep? Was I snoring? Oh god did I dribble? 
“I’m so sorry” I say over and over. The stylist reassures me it was only a matter of minutes and lots of people fall asleep. I assume she means pensioners and is just being polite. 
Back in the chair she gingerly asks me if I’d like a drink? Let’s not sugar coat this, it’s clear I need another coffee and yes I would like my 5th biscuit please.
Hair complete and I am delighted. I am a new woman. I am invincible. I can achieve anything. 
Bouncing out of the salon like I’m starring in a herbal essence commercial I am immediately hit but a gust of wind so aggressive it takes my breath away and thus am back to being Mumma With The Messy Hair. 
Oh well, we’ll always have sink/sleep-gate. 

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