A few of you might have noticed that I have taken on a rather Rapunzial look - my thin fairly long locks meta morphing over night into a one huge thick plait of blond hair, traipsing its way down my back. The reason for this was blatantly a lack of patience and the usual woman's logic of always wanting what they haven't got. In three years my hair had continued it slow journey towards my shoulders, and was looking reasonably happy with itself. Whoop went the hair - a collar bone, I've heard the next stop is titties! Then evil Maria swoops in with total disregard for my natural hairs effort and takes all the fun out of it by stating 'sod the titties these extensions have their mind set on reaching my belly button'. Well all was well. I could be seen swooshing, plaiting, curling and increasingly tying myself up in knots.The latter became rather a bug bear, but the continual need to brush or else tie it up was worth it for that luscious thick length (gosh the end of that sentence sounds awful - you know I'm still talking about my hair...right!?).
Then one day when poor little Maria was struck down with a cold, and whisked away to the land of nod. Happily playing in the cake fields with a battenburg in one hand and a Victoria sponge in the other, she skipped with shear Day Nurse delight. Until....cake land started to crumble away, my cakey goodness disappeared from my hands and not into my belly. Instead, and I apologise that the next bit is sketchy and down right odd, I am rather randomly in a street I don't know, being told by a man I don't know, that it was not me that saved the children, but him. The man points down the street to another man lying scarves on the road. Each scarf saves a child's life. Not to be outdone I spot a child in a car, grab the child and wrap my scarf around it.
OK so as odd dreams go, that was pretty epic, and I haven't a clue what it all means. Fortunately I think it is highly unlikely to happen in real life, so please don't hide your children away from me, and no I haven't found the light and started singing hallelujah to Jesus. Although I am quite impressed with the bitch slapping.
The point of all this? Well having not really planned to have a horrific nightmare, I had not tied my hair up before going to bed, despite it being damp (a must if you ever have extensions). With all my running, shaking my head, and general unease, when I woke I literally looked like worzel gummage. My hair was a series of matted rat tails. Rightly or wrongly I hopped in the shower, loaded it with conditioner and started trying to brush it out. In my naivety I rather hoped in a worse case scenario I could just remove the extensions and all would be OK.
It's 3am, I've left a message on my hairdressers phone, begging for an emergency appointment, and in my final hours of long hair, instead of caressing it and telling it soothing tales of hair follicle heaven and deep moisturising baths. I am pretending it is already gone. I am mentally (or at least at this point I think I am) ready for my biggest transformation.
I am telling you now, I am not interested in honest responses to the inevitable photo of my new hairstyle. If you are a friend you will accept that I have 7 years until my hair grows back to the same length again and just tell me what I want to hear..."Oh wow, that looks great, it suits you so much better than the long hair, what a stroke of luck - you look amazing!"
Oh and p.s. For all of those considering hair extensions...arn't you glad I have done the stupid deed on your behalf. Patience is indeed a virtue :)
