Otherwise known as having a haircut. My head, which used to look like a beachball, is now only the size of a tennis ball by comparison. You could have stuffed a serious cushion with the hair that was left behind on the hairdresser’s floor. My hair is ultra short again and I feel so much lighter.
Drama Duck says I look just like her father now. Scary thought. They say that married couples start to resemble each other after a while. (Or is it that people start to look like their dogs? I can never remember.)
Worse still, it’s not just a physical resemblance. I’m even starting to think like him. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I walked past his car in the carpark on the way to the hairdresser’s. I was seized with the urge to move it – just by a couple of spots. He might not even notice, or he might come back to the car and go “what the??”. I don’t usually think like that, but it’s the kind of thing that occurs to him all the time. I was strong, however, and squashed the evil impulse.
Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the hairdresser’s and he wanders in with a silly grin on his face.
“I thought I’d better tell you in case you panicked,” he says. “I moved your car.”
I tell you, it’s a match made in heaven.