I love my hairdresser.
She follows my requests (and sticks to my desired length) meticulously. She gets my creamy blonde colour spot on. She knows what I like, what I want, and she always delivers like a total pro. And for all that? She’s rather affordable. In that respect, she’s a dream.
She’s great at her job. She really, really, really is.
Well. Except for one thing.
You see, for all her strengths, my hairdresser has one rather large weakness.
SHE. WILL. NOT. STOP. TALKING.
From her ex-boyfriend, to her next holiday, to her sister’s divorce and dwindling savings account, she basically gnaws at my ear for the hour I’m in her chair. I’m 99 per cent sure her constant blabbing means I spend more and more unnecessary time in her salon every time I visit.
It’s exhausting, and no matter how much I try to cut the stream of verbal diarrhea off, she just goes on (and on and on and onnnnnnnn) reaching decibels I didn’t know were possible.
This is a bit of a problem considering I want nothing more than to relax when I get my hair done. I want to sit there and – while becoming more beautiful – read a trashy magazine. Or my book. Or my phone.