December 15.
It probably doesn't mean anything to you. But it does to me. It was the day I was meant to finally get my photo taken and update Facebook, Twitter and StumbleUpon with my beautiful mugshot showing off my new glossy, shiny locks.
But as you can tell that didn't happen due to what I will kindly call The Biggest Hairdressing Disaster in history. I should have escaped the moment that my wet hair started being attacked with a brush rather than a comb. Stupidly I didn't. I was already rooted to the spot with fear.
My hair has turned out so lopsidely bad that even Mario couldn't find anything good to say about it. He didn't even go with the 'no comment' option. When I was cussing and cursing about it on Monday, he said 'yep, they've mangled your hair'.
Needless to say, there is no way it is being immortalised in a photo until I've got a British hairdresser to repair the damage.
But it has inspired another entry in the Five Things I've Learnt...category.
1. I felt like an alien in the hairdressers last week. They were all gossiping away in Sardinian and I had no idea what they were on about. Gallurese is totally different to Cagliaritano or Capadinese spoken in the south. Even Sardinians can't understand each other when they speak in their own dialects. What hope is there for me?
2. I've had some rather fearful episodes at Italian hairdressers. Once, when I was gowned-up in the chair and there was no escape, the hairdresser cheerfully confessed to me that I was his first client. The results spoke for themselves. My hair ended up a good five inches shorter than it should have done because he couldn't get it level. I couldn't speak Italian very well then so I just sat and stared in horror.
3. No matter that the rain is lashing down, Italian hairdressers insist on blowdrying your hair to perfection and attacking it with the straighteners. It's a pointless exercise when you don't have an umbrella, you have to walk to the bus stop and there's no bus shelter.
4. I'm not Sardinia and I'm not blessed with their lucious thick locks. My hair is typically British: fine with annoying kinks where you don't want them. Sardinian hairdressers don't understand this and cut my hair according to conventional wisdom. Result? If I couldn't do anything with it before, I can do a lot less with it now.
5. My hair causes every single Sardinian hairdresser to stop in their tracks and call over everyone else in the salon to look at the colour of my hair. Women in Sardinia have one of three hair colours: dark brown/black, bleached blonde or dyed red. My hair is a natural mix of auburn and different shades of brown and, while it is perfectly normal in the UK, Sardinians have never seen anything like it. Temporarily I feel like a princess - until they start hacking away at my hair.
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