Thrown over for a pair of short pink shorts

My lovely new hairdresser, Tamara, just threw me over for the girl who bends over in her pink little shorts on Eddie’s bus! 

I only made my hair appointment with her last Sunday!   And I specifically said I wanted HER to cut my hair.   OK, I almost forgot to go and the only reason I did go was because I was in the shopping centre to buy milk for tomorrow’s cereal breakfast and some veges for tomorrow’s lamb lunch and I walked past the hair salon and remembered how desperately my hair needed cutting. 

But, she didn’t know that.  In fact I don’t think she knew me, which I didn’t take personally, because people don’t remember me.  I have one of those faces that could belong to anyone.  When we first moved to our suburb nine years ago our local shopkeepers made friends with Eddie straight away.  But it took ages, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to hazard at least a year, for them to recognise me when I was by myself.

So I stood at the counter this afternoon and told Tamara that I had an appointment at 3pm.  Tamara smiled blankly and said to come through to the salon, where I sat down and looked into the mirror to see someone I didn’t recognise standing behind me asking what I wanted to do with my hair today!

I panicked a little bit and then took a quick look at my face in the mirror to make sure it hadn’t dropped as far as it felt like it dropped… because I didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings.  How was she to know a woman with hair as grown out and split as mine was would be fussy about who’s allowed to touch it.

Luckily, the new girl was very nice and did do a very good job of cutting my hair.  And that bitch Tamara, the nerve of her, stood a couple of chairs away cutting the hair of the girl from Eddie’s bus.  The one who’s never fully clothed and always wearing her pink little shorts and pink little top and brown little body and bending over and shit.