I can’t remember the last time I dyed my hair. Well, actually, it was yesterday, but before that I can’t remember when I last dyed my hair. It was a long time ago. More than 5 years I think.

Yesterday, whilst at the supermarket picking up some bits and pieces, I walked past the hair dye section. They had a sale on. (bargain right?!? *just say yes*)

I picked up some dye, not quite my natural colour and put it in my basket.

Later that evening I decided not to dye my hair just yet. But then my husband decided he needed a haircut, so I thought “why not”.

So just after 9pm I was sat with my hair covered in stinky, smelly, goopy dye.

30 minutes later I was attempting to rinse it out of my hair with my husband holding the shower head over my upside down head and me desperately trying to keep the dye-stained water out of my eyes.

My eyes are brown enough thank you very much.

I conditioned, I dried. I brushed.

I was surprised when it (my hair) came out with a reddish tinge. The dye was called cappuccino. Cappuccino my arse! Someone got at it with some red food colouring! But saying that it does look pretty ok.

Today, no one I worked with in my office noticed the change in my hair colour. It’s not a huge change but it is noticeable.

I went the whole day without any comments until 3pm when I had a meeting with a client (who I haven’t seen in about 6 weeks) and the second thing she said to me was “have you coloured your hair?” (the first thing was “hello”)

I wonder if anyone with notice the difference tomorrow?

Snip Snip Snip

Today I decided I needed to get my hair cut. I last had my hair cut in 2010, so it REALLY REALLY needed to be cut.

Luckily I remembered that I had a 1/2 price voucher for my favourite salon.

So I called up, made an appointment and headed off to sort my locks out.

I got to the salon and was greeted by a lovely smiling lady, she settled me in and got me an orange juice. I proceeded to sit and wait for my stylist (Anthony) when this woman came up to me and said “Hi Emma, I’m June”. My mind did a bit of a back flip trying to think if perhaps Anthony had had a sex change since this morning and changed his name to June, instead, I smiled and responded “Hi June, I’m Becca, nice to meet you”. June quickly recovered and asked the woman next me if she was Emma, turns out she was. I never took myself for an Emma.  I’ve been called Nicola, Natalie and Rachel and even Nigel, but never Emma.

Eventually Anthony came over to me and said hello and got me settled in to discuss what I wanted doing. We made a plan and I headed over to get my hair washed.

Personally I think having your hair washed, conditioned and your scalp massaged at the hair salon is one of life’s finer things. I am seriously considering making a demand that my husband train to be one of the hair washers at a salon so he can wash and massage my hair on a weekly basis. Somehow I think his reply to my demand will be along the lines of “you can just fuck right off darling”.

There is something to be said for having a strange man massage your head though. It is SO relaxing.

To my disappointment the hair washing and massaging comes to an end and it’s time to cut my hair. 30 minutes later my hair is cut, dried and styled and I’ve handed over my 1/2 off voucher and paid.

Isn’t it fabulous the way your hair smells and feels once it’s been given the salon treatment? It’s so light and clean and nice.

I leave the salon minus 4 inches of hair, and probably won’t be back until sometime in 2012.

I really must take better care of my hair, if only to go and have it washed and massaged.