I am currently on the verge of a crisis. Few things truly scare me - and what I am about to encounter is certainly one of those things that shakes me to my core.
I rang to make an appointment with my most beloved hairdresser, and was informed that he has moved to London! Apparently he didn't see fit to tell me. Not only was I disturbed at this obvious oversight on his behalf, I am now confronted with selecting a new stylist. Do I stay with the same salon and brave their "new" replacement? Or do I jump ship and enter the fray of the complete unknown?
Changing hairdresser is something I do rarely - in fact, last time it took an interstate move to tempt me away from my last one - and even that was under duress. I loathe changing stylist, not because I am incredibly fussy with my hair. In fact, considering I do little in the way of colour, or style, my hair provides no real task for any stylist.
But the problem is that I hate small talk. This is another reason I hate dating. All that banal and idle chit-chat about what you do for a job, and what things you get up to when not working. It is so screamingly dull that I just want to poke someone in the eye with a blunt stick. I am quite happy to sit and be attended to, while I read a magazine, with an occasional comment pertaining to an article. If there is no conversation - I will not be offended - I will probably thank you for saving us both from something that would probably piss me off. When I find a hairdresser that can both cut hair, and respect my quiet time, I will return again and again - quite faithfully.
So when I made the phone call for an appointment, my heart sank knowing not only that Tim had abandoned me, but that the quest for a new hairdresser must again begin. I was offered their new stylist - but clearly I may need champagne, and not the usual water/coffee/tea assortment, to get me through this trauma.
I know - you all feel my pain. Thanks.