24 July, 2006
DB (Ditzy Blonde) returned from Kiwi-Land recently and I was ecstatic for two reasons:
1. She is fantastic company and makes more inappropriate, silly comments than I do.
2. She is the only other person apart from my sister who cuts my hair well.
What I also love about DB is that when she sees me she just decides what is going to happen with my hair. I have no choice in the matter.
I am not very good at making decisions like what haircut to have; however, occasionally DB cuts my hair and I think: SHIT.
It's not that I don't like the haircut, more that I worry about how it is going to go down at my workplace. My boss is rather conservative (as is the industry I work in) and our clients even more so. So on Saturday when DB cut my hair before we all headed out to dinner and drinks in cutting edge Clerkenwell, I was quite happy with the German-military-deconstructed-buzzcut-haircut.
After several bottles of wine and numerous post dinner drinks (Cointreau was my digestive of choice) it seemed truly fantastic. OBF and I decided to do a photo shoot around my hair in a drunken stylee of which I've attached a photo...
Upon waking on Sunday morning with a massive hangover and thinking about the huge meeting I had on Monday morning, I wasn't so sure. In fact, I felt very unsure.