Hairy Moments

One of my biggest phobias has to be my absolute dread of hairdressers. The main basis of this is that I truly hate people I don't know getting right in my face and talking to me. I don't know what it is about that behaviour but I just can't stand it. All I know is I'd rather have my teeth drilled - at least dentists wear masks.

Being a person who hates to be bound by fear I have tried a number of times to overcome this problem. But after several "incidents" involving near or actual injury I decided to give the whole hair cut thing a rest.

But I had decided last month I was ready to bite the bullet and attempt, against my internal fears, to have my slightly unruly hair tamed into a proper style.

I was all ready to engage the services of a reputable stylist, who had been recommended to me by a good and trusted chum.

However before I had chance to place a call to the salon, one (aforementioned) Simon stuck his ore in. Spotting the money off coupon for the salon on my desk he picked it up and handed it to me saying "You need this".

Charming. He did later apologise for his, I quote, "unprofessional comments." But for the last month I have refused to see a hairdresser. My hair isn't quite in the league of Tom Hanks in Castaway, its long, shiny and clean, rarely styled bar the daily plait or pony tail to allow me to go about my day without significant hair crises.

The worst thing that any man can think, be he friend, relative, co-worker or other, is that you will change how you are to fit his opinion. It is a real sign of weakness and something that can totally alter social standing. Hence my resistance to overcoming the salonophobia.

But I feel it is now getting ridiculous, I'm not happy with it and I really want a change. So I'm off to a salon tomorrow to try and bring an end to the Barnet saga.

I just hope Simon, and other colleagues, has no memory for mean things he has said in the past...