Now, for all of you who want something with a bit more humour, here we go. I am aware that many of you pine for me, when I hit you with the really heavy stuff and can only imagine your mind saying “what’s with the psychologist stuff again? Ain’t she got any clients?”
I could talk about the hair thing, but won’t go there, well actually I might just for one brief moment. Actually, I must go there again as I want you all to feel my pain, the agony of not having a decent hair style, yet having to walk out in the public domain, whilst trying to keep hidden, a very terrible, terrible tale. The Bad Hair Do.
Ok, come on let me humour you here again. At this moment in time, all you need to know is that I will not be leaving the house, or opening my front door to anyone, or peeping through my letter box, without some form of headgear in tow for another two months, at least.
The hair was cut two weeks ago and I was really pleased with the results. But alas it has grown back now (fertiliser head, they call me) and those little curly, tight, knots have begun to re-appear (the wicked, wicked things). The grey hair too is doing her utmost to upset me, forcing itself right out the front of my forehead, how vain and evil can you get? Therefore, I can no longer just use the afro comb to give myself that “Shaft” look and unless I use a brush as well to put those tight little knots in their place, I look like a lamb with curly perm, without the gel, whose just got caught in a thunder storm.
I have therefore become quite a pro at doing the head wrap thing. Oh yes, I am walking out there looking like Queen Sheba now, and not some psychopath wearing a cross between a turban and a rocket, or sometimes a beehive.
My reputation is at stake here and should anyone, in a moment of madness, try to relieve me of either hat or makeshift turban, as I walk the streets, I can only say Police would never find your body. They’d only find your eyeballs, rolling around in dog pooh by the side of a tree. So please, don’t temp fate if you see me by asking stupid questions like “what have you done with your hair now?” because I will be forced to act very rapidly and ferociously and will certainly be prepared to claim “Insanity on the Grounds of Persecution” if I ever had to go to court. But like I said before, Police would never find your body.
But there is hope for me, as by April, I hope to have made up my mind what I want to do with the hair thing and if I allow it to grow for long enough, may just end up with a hair style which looks half decent. Otherwise, I will just cut it off again and do the Sinead O’Connor look for another decade.
