We all hear that selfcare is the mantra for all tired, depressed and frankly exhausted parents out there. I have been slowly but surely trying to build myself up over the last couple of weeks. I have been struggling with my health and obviously worried myself silly over my teen and my hubby has been working long hours. So, I’ve been going it alone for some time.
I started small, buying a couple of pieces summer clothing, something to spruce up the wardrobe and make me feel feminine. I ordered some middle age skin cream and collagen to see if I can stave the hands of time. I also had to go for a haircut, so I made some time this morning.
Now the relationship between me and my hair has been interesting throughout my life. I used to get fed-up with my hair on a specific day and come hell or highwater my hair will be cut on THAT day. On a Monday in my twenties this landed me at an African hair salon in Marabastad, with a hairdresser Dr Dre; warning me that he does NOT cut European hair. I insisted and ended up with the shortest haircut of my life. I could have lived with it was it not for the unevenly cut layers everywhere on my head.
The hairdresser next to the place where I worked called me over after two-days of sporting my new cut and insisted that she wants to see whether she can do anything to make my hair look better. The only thing she could do was to shave it all off; okay shave it on a number 4. On a side note, I liked this so much that I did voluntarily shave my hair like this again; think Sinéad O’Connor.
So, back to my new hairstyle. I have been cutting my hair at an Indian barber which is on my way back home in the morning doing my school run. I decided to make the most of my time and popped in. The first red flag should have been that my regular barber was not there. It’s his day off. Well since in my mind I did not need a rocket scientist to cut my hair, as I just wanted the same cut but a little shorter, I opted for the available barber.
This was a massive mistake. He proceeded to comb my hair in a combover with the parting at the weirdest of places and subsequently chopped off the right side of my hair with an electrical hair trimmer.
I however ever optimistic did not get up and run away, I sat there as he systematically kept on cutting my hair shorter and shorter. I though he was maybe going for an undercut; boy was I wrong.
He then shaved the hair in the back really short, still I did not get up and run I still wanted to believe he was working with a plan. I don’t mind my hair at the back short.
The he started in on the left side of the head. He again brought the hair trimmer and cut off the hair above my ear on the right-side. He kept trying to cut the hair in a downward angle, but it got shorter and shorter. The fact that he was not trying to use scissors at this stage made me anxious but in for a penny in for a pound I sat glued to my seat.
At this stage I have a very definite space between my ear and my hair. I have very little hair on the right, I have a wad of hair on the top. I have a combover starting on the right in-between where my normal parting would be and my ear. I look like a balding man trying to cover a bald spot that is not there.
At this point the barber was done with his creation, and I was happy that I had some hair left, I was not sure how I was going to remedy this situation.
Now when I walked in the door I asked for a haircut and eyebrow threading. I should have stopped this massacre before it went any further, but I was adamant that something good was going to come out of this ordeal. So, I sat, for the eyebrows.
He attempted to thread my one brow but did not manage to get this done, he then opted to shave them rather than thread them. I have thick eyebrows, so I was not concerned about this next step.
He however insisted that I needed to tint my eyebrows to which I did manage to object to. He assured me that this is what was needed, and it had to be black. At this stage I wanted to get this all over with and like a sheep to slaughter I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.
Today was not my day for miracles, when he was done with me, I had two angry black hairy worms above my eye. The one was starting its run towards to the right looking to start a war. Instead of complimenting my look it was at least detracting from my terrible haircut.
Like an seeing accident I could not look away.
Now every previous cut I had at this establishment included photos of my new fabulous haircut, today the phones did not come out, I do not blame them. I do think that this barber soldiering on through the hairy trenches understood that he made a huge mess and did not want digital proof of his transgressions.
I paid and left.
On my way home I kept looking at my hair thick with some hair product to keep my combover in place and my angry eyebrows. In the stark sunlight there was no mistaking the damage.
Now the reason which prompted my need for a haircut is that I’m due for a meeting on Friday and wanted to look good when we do the Teams meeting. I was going to allow the video feed for the meet and greet portion of the meeting. I wanted to look good.
Getting home I immediately WhatsApp one of my friends outlining my problem and a need for some intervention. Maybe if I can get the colour off my skin the eyebrows might not look too bad.
She can only see me in an hour. I then decide that I’m going to put Charcoal whitening toothpaste on my eyebrows, maybe it would act as a bleach. So, with toothpaste in place, I proceed to wash the hair product out of my hair. I then rinse my face.
The worms are still in place but I have minty fresh Angry Bird eyebrows.
I message one of my other friends she’s a beautician, and she suggests a sulphur-based shampoo which will lighten the colour. Nothing can really be done unless I can get the colour out. For a short period of time, I play around with waxing my eyebrows. I mean if the Mona Lisa can pull it off, I’m sure I can. I table this idea until after I saw my friend in person.
I go to my friend’s house; she laughs at my verbal diarrhoea about how terrible I look and how upset I am that I did not stop this whole ordeal from happening at the start.
Why are we raised to be so darn decent? Staying when things are so obviously going wrong.
She suggests that I wear my hair the other way around, this way my left-hand side mushroom head will be less obvious the right will be tucked behind my ear, to make the difference in length less obvious. She looks at the brows and suggest caution, wait for the dye to wash off my skin and then see what is needed.
She makes coffee; coffee makes the world better… I will need a bucket of coffee to make this all go away.
I go home now with my parting the wrong way around. Every time I need to get the hair out of my eyes, which covers some of the brows, I need to remember to go the other way.
I start to work when I get home, focused on not thinking about how I can fix this massive mistake I made. Later hubby and child arrive home. I share my ordeal, I show them my brows, neither of them can SEE the issue. For once there’s a benefit sharing a house with two autistic people; it seems clutter blindness extends to hairy worms on my forehead.
After dinner I take a bath, remembering the Boerseep, which I bought at the latest market I visited. I decide that I’m going to try that. Soaping my brows I lie in the bath. At the end I was my face and get out of the bath.
With bated breath I go towards the mirror… the skin is no longer dyed. The angry worms are not that visible I can live with what’s left of them. It doesn’t look like the eyebrows I wanted, but they don’t look like a five-year old drew them on.
So tomorrow when I take my child for a haircut at her barber, I will ask him if he can maybe do something to my haircut to make it less lopsided but without creating a double mushroom head and shaving it all off.
I’m not going to feel as fabulous for my Friday meeting as I’d hoped but I might be able to snatch my look from the hands of doom.
Parents when you’re looking at selfcare, my advice would be to stop at the first red flag, don’t hope and pray that things are going to get better when you can see a situation which can not be salvaged happening in front of your eyes.
I know it’s already a leap to get you into that chair but run for your life when the hair trimmer comes out. We’ve all had a bad hair day, but no one deserves a bad haircut.
