The Horrifying Barber Shop

Evidently, I'm no beauty blogger. I've more in common with my neighbour Christy who rummages through public bins in search of dinner than I do with those beauty gurus on YouTube showcasing their winter favourites and updated skincare routines. In spite of this, I do get my hair cut every once in a while and although I'll confidently never know which shampoo gives itchy scalp or what conditioner to avoid if greasy hair is a difficulty, I do know what defines a bad hairdresser. This is the horror story detailing the harrowing narrative of my last haircut.

Me: 'Hi good fellow, fabulous evening I do believe. I wish to get my mane trimmed'. Me attempting to be sociable.
Barber: 'Huh?'. Pronounced in a sharp tone. The slightly bewildered chap peeked out the window to the image of a mini hurricane and didn't appreciate my strange sense of humour.
Me: 'Do I have to make an appointment or does now suit?'. I was being polite, the place was clearly dead and from the look of things he had nothing better for doing.
Barber: 'Sit'. What can I say? He had a very limited vocabulary. 

At this stage I was confident everything would go well from here. He wasn't exactly the chatty type so I wouldn't have to endure that awkward small talk most hair stylists tend to partake in. I was a fool for being so presumptive on how smooth things would pan out and ended up paying the price.

He started by wrapping me in one of those hairdressing gowns (the garments that resemble a cape being wore the opposite way around), in the process almost choking me. He definitely stole it off a Malibu Barbie styling mannequin head as the collar was way too narrow to be applied to a living human being. The trimmers were then brought onto the scene with what I can only assume was his non-writing hand, he then preceded to attack my head with it.
I couldn't do or say anything at this stage as the robe had me forcefully secured and what little air I was left with was fundamentally for breathing and not complaining. The first lock of hair he chopped descended onto my nose and for the entirety of the ordeal I was in real life purgatory i.e. loitering between sneezing or not. 

After my haircut my face displayed a feature similar to the doll's. 

He had just blistered about ninety percent of my head when suddenly he remembered the scissors had a part to play in this assault. I then initiated prayers to all four major world religions as I was destined to lose an ear, eye or limb. Throughout this nightmare of this haircut the spray he was applying to wet my hair had to be boiling water, my skin felt scalded and this comes from someone who craves heat. The comb he was using was clearly not cleaned from the previous person, but I needn't worry about catching head lice as by the end of this tribulation I'd have no hair left. 
He was almost done defiling me when he took out a naked blade (usually it's used to trim stubble) and I genuinely lost about half a stone from all the sweat generated, terrified Eileen Dunne would be announcing 'death by haircut' on the nine o'clock RTE news later that evening.
However thanks to higher sources I somehow survived the incident without losing too much blood. Before leaving I was presented with one of those stamped cards meaning I'm only four near death experiences away from receiving another near death experience, lucky me. I gracefully declined the special offer as call me old fashioned but a World War II gas chambers themed haircut just isn't my thing.
The traumatic encounter was almost over with, I was about to pay.  Now although I acted like true gent and fought back tears throughout the pursuit I did fall to the ground bawling when he didn't offer me a complementary lollipop as per norm at the end. Had he no mercy?
I went home looking dangerously like Sinead O'Connor and the next day I noticed he had some bizarre African tribal chant craved in Swahili into the back of my skull. Suppose that's life. You win some, you lose some more.

The sheep were left with more dignity than I was.


New Year, New Annoyances

It is the start of another tedious year and instead of activating this calender changeover on a good note I've started as I mean to go on, easily provoked. The umbilical cord was barely cut off 2014 and the jubilant well wishers had activated their Facebook statuses. This trailed the often deluded new years resolutions. Ahead of the posse, I drafted out my own list of unrealistic hopes and destined-to-doom aspirations for the future last May. You can find that blog-post by clicking here. You better appreciate how handy I made that for you and that's a threat.

I don’t know what it is exactly about the beginning of a new year but it brings out these sudden false promises of self improvement in people, I'm guessing it's the air or the hungover heads. All I know is everyone jumps on the bandwagon and all of a sudden there's way too much hope and ambition in the air, which typical Ireland takes pleasure in raking violently out of people.
Woodie's DIY currently stocking ambition wrecker rakes on a special half price offer.

As I was previously waffling, personal stress levels are sky rocketing and I've once again taken my thoughts and groans to the internet. Here are some current pet peeves that I'll most likely have forgotten about this time next week.

1. People who don't flush the toilet. Is it they don't know how? Or do they appreciate the effort that was made into making their faeces that bit too much? Or is it spitefully prearranged to surprise the next awaiting visitor to the throne? All I know is that it is sick. Wait, it's sicker than sick. It is just sad.  I don't need to know if you had corn for lunch, if that shepherd's pie didn't agree with you or if your shit excels in the butterfly stroke.

2. Monkey nuts. Every Halloween my family immerse themselves in these lazy peanuts. What is their purpose? In a society where we can invent paper cut prevention devices and onion goggles we should be capable to find a solution. Fire their production department and hire the best team of monkey nut enthusiasts to crack the hell out of these peanuts. It's essential the shops present us with the ready to eat product by next Halloween, otherwise the shells and mess they generate will destroy me more than someone suffering from severe nut allergies

3. People that take that bit too long ordering at a fast food restaurant. These creatures are the reason world wars are contrived. Surely, when you're waiting in the queue in the first place you've decided what meal you're ordering, what drink you're selecting and in the time remaining the name of your first born child. I mean if I'm getting takeaway that entire day I'm contemplating it. For hours it's all I daydream of, it's all I can smell and it is the reason I'm shaking with excitement in a two hour lecture. These folk create those long, torturous queues of impatient, hungry people i.e. the nearest thing to a mob or riot without Bosco involved.

4. Toddlers with attitude. I am slightly terrified of them. These egotistical, high demanding little individuals are worse than the oompa loompas off Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I suffered through a conversation with my four year old cousin the other day in which he spent ten minutes detailing how much 'gooder' he was than me, I'd correct his grammar but it is possible he'd glass me once my back was turned.

5. Condensation. I'll be the first person to admit to you that I'm weird, but genuinely I can't be the only one who loathes it. If I am in a room and it is on the window I have to leave, if it's on my plate I will struggle to eat my grub and if it's on the screen of my phone then my mobile becomes subject to my own version of an Olympic hammer throw event.
Pass me the shotgun Daddy, time to take matters into my own hands (pun intended). 

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