Snip Snip, Holy S**t.

I have written previously on this blog about overcoming loneliness, death, language barriers, cultural differences, and homesickness. Yet today I faced an experience so daunting and nervewrecking it will live forever in my mind.

I got my hair cut.

Now, I am not one for fretting about my hair. Since a gekko decided to die in my hair dryer about 2 weeks ago I have gone au natural with the hair, which includes lots of flicks and general awfulness. In Thailand, if you are a farang, you can get away with wearing a bin liner as long as it covers your shoulders. But you can only put off the inevitable for so long, and after nearly 6 months, I was in need of a haircut.

In the past I have cut my hair from below my shoulders to a near shaved side-of-the-head with a floppy fringe style, I have bleached it, snipped it myself with a blunt scissors, and I have changed it about so many times and all without much thinking. I did the same this time. I cycled into town with an average idea of what I wanted, did a few hand gestures at the hairdressers, and after a lovely shampoo and head massage, I was feeling well confident when I sat down in the chair. Nothing prepared me for what came next.

The hairdresser came over, I showed her how short I wanted it, which was about 2 inches off, and I signalled a side fringe. She went 'ok ok ok', grabbed her scissors, pinned a chunk of my hair up, and nattered to the girl beside her as she went SNIP , taking at least 4-5 inches off the back.

Holy mother of jesus and the seven mollywopsies what has she done!!!!!

Mai pen rai, mai pen rai, mai pen rai (Thai version of Hakuna Matata). Breath, breath. It may not be as bad as it seems.

After about three minutes and a lot of very fast and not really measured snips, I had a bob pretty much exactly the same as my students' government school uniform hairstyle. She also went to town on the fringe and it is a lot shorter than I anticipated. It took me til this time to take my eyes off the scissors in the mirror and look at myself to see I looked like I was about to be sick. They just laughed. But, after the trainee dragged the hair off of my head with the hairdryer, I found it wasn't at the 'oh god, hand my the electric shaver and a bottle of vodka' level of direness. Its short, and I needed a serious coffee and a good half an hour sit down to let the heart settle, but I survived.

Next time Amy, go in with a picture and a native speaker. Silly girl.

Sawatdiikha.