So, Here’s a Question…

Let it not be said that I do not talk about matters of great importance to the world.

You know comb-overs right? That stupid hairdo that some men have when they go bald and try to trick the rest of us into believing they have a full head of hair? Do they actually believe it themselves, do you think? This is not my pressing question. No, what I’d like to know is, when is that decision made? When, in the process of going bald, do men decide that they will go for the come-over? AND! What are they doing with the hair while it is growing? Because it has to grow to a certain length to be swept so cunningly over their shiny domes, so what happens to it? Does it just dangle at the back like some naff mullet? Not that all mullets aren’t naff…Do they tuck it somewhere? Do they go away for a year, like in witness protection, and come back with ‘hair’? How do they decide which side of the hair will be grown? I must know.

When I was at school one of the teachers had a dreadful comb-over, on windy days it exposed his head and waved at us, and at all other times it would slink down until it was resting on his eyebrow. I think it was working against him personally. His hair was probably like ‘Dude, if you continue to treat us in such a manner we shall be forced to make you an object of ridicule forever more!’ He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone (and if he didn’t being given a hairclip as a joke was surely a bit of a giveaway). We certainly knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. So why?

For my next intellectual endeavour I shall ponder why people wear trousers that are too short for them.

GHD Love

I got my GHDs back!!!! Woot!!! Not only back, but fixed, and for free. Double woot!!

I haven’t heard a single word from them this whole time though, so I was getting a bit worried. I called and made sure they had arrived but they were still being inspected at that point. And then I walked into work this morning and there they were. They have kindly given me a box, which for a second made me think they’d given me totally new ones like last time, but no, they did what I thought they would do, which is replaced the cable. I guess the wiring went on the fritz.

Then I noticed the hole where the fuse should be, and I was all indignant, ‘Couldn’t they even have given me a fuse! Those cheap skates!’  And then I looked in the box and there was a fuse, so I liked them again.

No letter or anything, no demand for payment. I thought there would be a minimum charge, as that’s what they said the first time. Though, as I said, I didn’t pay then either.

So, basically, for right now, GHD rock!

And now my hair can be mine all mine again.

Bad Hair Day

My GHDs died yesterday morning. I turned them on and, pfft, nothing. No little blinking light. No heat. Woe. This is a much nicer way to have them die on me than last time, when I was in the middle of using them and they made a popping sound and then a burst of flame spurted from the back. I dropped them to the floor with a scream and they sprayed sparks like a firework, and then it was over. Luckily I wasn’t burned. Even luckier neither was my carpet (I rent see).

I sent the GHDs back today to see if they can be fixed. I am without straighteners. Eeek. Thankfully the flatmates have them too or I would be having lots of ponytail days. It was hard to send them off though, even by registered post, because what if they get lost? And what if they can’t be fixed? Let’s not even go there, because I don’t want to have to fork out £120 right now.

I got lost on the way to the post office. You wouldn’t think that was possible, seeing as I have been before, but I did. I got confused between that and the sorting office and wandered about bewildered for far too long, because that’s the way I roll. Then I called work and said ‘OK, I give. Where’d they move the post office to?’

Found it eventually. I am not slow, no sir.

So, in the name of shaming myself even more, and the thought of how terrifying hair can be without proper care, I give you these: