Aaargh!

The haircut is hateful. After eight weeks since my last cut, all I wanted was the growth cut off and the shape put back in. Instead of which he kept waving the comb and scissors about but only took the tiniest snippets of hair off. I waited and waited for signs that he was putting the style back the way he'd done it before. What a vain hope! Why would a hairdresser ever want to do the same style again? That's not what they are there for, is it? When I questioned him about cutting so little, he said it suited me better with the sides longer and the back shorter. So was the last cut a mistake on his part, then, I asked? Well, he said, this suits you better. Hmmm. I ended up with something that looks like Julie Andrews in The S.of M. whereas last time I came out looking quite sophisticated. I've got this stupid little fringe that won't do anything but sit there looking like a little girl. The fact that I AM little doesn't help matters. Came home sulking (there's nothing quite like a post-haircut sulk, is there?) and thinking that after three years I probably won't go back (because that's how far my complaining goes). My daughter said it was more fashionable and made me look younger. The last bit I believe but in a non-good way. My husband came home and just skirted around me for a while before carefully saying 'He's cut it a bit differently, hasn't he?' Hah! That lit the firework and I went into the familiar Haircut Moan which he has heard many times before. Usually, however, when I've washed it and styled it myself I like it. I doubt that is going to happen this time. It'll grow, I suppose.

Stuart took Olivia back to university in England today. I was so sad to see them fly off because they are staying with my older daughter and all going for a jolly lunch tomorrow with Stuart's brother who is visiting from Australia. He is visiting Germany next week, so I will see him then, but am feeling very abandoned and weepy - have really enjoyed having my youngest daughter around this last few weeks. I knew I would get a lump in my throat when they left, so grabbed the dog and walked for an hour - whenever I'm upset, angry or have something to think about, walking always works wonders. We had a wonderful walk in glorious late afternoon sunshine and came back feeling much better. Then I walked into the empty appartment and was overwhelmed with tears again. Honestly, I despise this kind of behaviour and I am the sort of person who cries at sad movies but hardly ever cries at real life. I'm blaming it on that bloody haircut...