Happy Anniversary to Me

December 11, 2006 at 5:19 am (Uncategorized)

Well, to us, actually. Today is our second wedding anniversary, and as scary as it is that the time has passed so quickly, it’s also very nice to have reached a new milestone. In real terms, Llew and I have been together ten years today – it was on this night ten years ago that we first lurched drunkenly down the work Christmas party slippery slope from “just friends” to “something more.” But in marriage terms, we’re still absolute beginners. We’ve only reached the china year, so we’re still a long way from the diamonds and pearls no matter what the artist formerly known as Prince has to say about it.

Two years ago, it was all about to kick off. I’d been to a south coast hairdressing salon and had my hair singed right to my scalp. All I wanted was a simple wash and blow dry, but instead I copped a full scale arsenal that left my hair feeling and looking remarkably like steel wool. This is something of a feat, because I have very fine and dead straight hair. It all started because the psychotic owner of the salon seemed to find it unforgivably offensive that I had booked a lady from Ella Bache to do my nails and make-up as well as administer a nice all-over spray tan. “WELL, WE DO ALL OF THAT, YOU KNOW,” she screeched at me. “WE DO EVERYTHING HERE!!! YOU SHOULD HAVE HAD IT ALL DONE HERE!!!!!” I thanked her, but stuck to my guns and begged off changing my booking with the lovely girl from Ella Bache, who was meeting us back at Llew’s parents’ accommodation within the hour. Thanks, but no thanks.

Now, I can understand competition is stiff and every little extra wedding dollar you can bleed out of your customers the better, but I should have been able to exercise my right to say no without sacrificing a perfectly healthy head of hair. Instead, they seemed to deliberately BRUTALISE me, taking turns to inflict the next stage of torture. First I was given a scalding wash, then some high school work experience girl bound my hair in curlers so tight I squealed and my eyes involuntarily watered. When I protested that I didn’t want curlers, the cut snake crazy owner pretended not to hear me and stuck me under one of those industrial 1950s-style hairdryers that look and move like triffids. Then she walked away.

It takes ten minutes to dry my hair. They left me under that monster for over an hour, and when I tried to wave my arms and yell out for help because the back of my neck was on fire, I found I wasn’t the only one fallen deaf with the noise. When my crisp little sticks of fried follicles eventually fell out of the curlers, the place finally fell quiet for a moment. Very, very quiet. Nearly in tears, I ran outside to scream, and one of the hairdressers said to my bridesmaid, Sarah, “She’s not getting married like that, is she?” Well, I hadn’t planned on it, sweetheart, but that was before you all took turns gleefully destroying my poor innocent hair because I didn’t want you to give me three inch acrylic nails with some kind of glittered, sparkly story about flowers and rainbows and sunshine told across ten cuticles like tacky, highly flammable commandments. No means no, you trumped up talon tarts.

So, anyway, I’ve always wanted to get that off my chest. We got back to the house and just started all over again, literally picking up the limp pieces and trying to coax them back to life. Happily, the rest of the day went off like a dream.


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