Drastic action is required
This morning I forgot to straighten my hair!
I will put this into context for those of you unable to grasp the shocking nature of this small but significant occurrence. I am a hair straightening addict. The day I brought my hot irons home was a turning point in my life. No longer would I fling my overheated hair dryer across the room in frustration as I tried to blow out every crimp and curl.
No price is too high for these ceramic babies which glide across my frizzy locks transforming them into a glistening mass of straightness. I never leave the house without them packed in my overnight bag. I favour hats over umbrellas for guaranteeing immaculate hair at the end of a rainstorm. A bandana never leaves my head when sailing or swimming, for although I cannot fight the curling affects of salt water, I can at least hide it.
My hairdresser recoils in horror as I present him, every few months, with a burnt and shriveled excuse for a hairstyle. ‘It just needs a little trim’ I try to convince him, ‘then it will be fine’.
This morning, as I sat on the tube, nose buried in my paper, a lone ringlet floated before my eyes. I swept it aside and seconds later it sank it; that was MY hair…and it was CURLY!
I had confidently emerged from my house with a curling mass of locks adorning my head and been oblivious. I had left the building without a burning piece of ceramic coming within sight of my hair. What was I thinking?
This is too much, it’s gone too far. It’s time to call my shrink.
UPDATE: Sunny et al, you will be pleased to hear thatI have given my hair the freedom to curl as it wishes all weekend and the unanimous feedback has been positive. The ceramics will come out again tomorrow though I'm afraid, the ringlets are not quite ready for a weekday appearance yet!