"So, what shall we do here then, " said Janet.
"Choppy, layered, remove the fluff" said I.
"As short as you want to?"
"Go for it"
I don't know who was more worried, me, the floppy haired fortysomething or the latest contestant in "search for a Wiltshire hairdresser who can cope with wavy hair".
We coped. It's the best haircut I've had in about two years after an unfortunate short layering incident with a young lady who started out quite well but whose interest in my aging locks were destined to fade.
The older I get, the less able I am to communicate with people who I'm paying to make me look a little better. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm starting to speak some kind of over-40 dialect; whether it's because I'm now on the slippery age to Tena lady pantypads and need more intensive (see expensive) work, or because all I really want them to do is make me look better, even if that's just until the next encounter with a hairdryer.
Janet was marvellous and she coped very well with my random and unintelligible descriptions of how I wanted my hair. We got out the books and, for once, in my hairdressing visiting history, she sat while I looked and skilfully steered me away from all the cuts that I really want - elfin, flicky, small-headed haircuts.
I am neither elfin, nor small-headed.
I went, I sat, I read 'Hello' and G noticed the cut when he got home. Success, indeed.