“Make time for yourself.”
“It’s not about having time. It’s about making time.”
“Have a break. Have a Kit Kat.”
Life is just damn hectic. It’s go-go go from the moment I wake up and doesn’t end until I’m passed out in bed. I’m like a lab rat running on a wheel, only I’m not having fun and I can’t get off. Every so often I need a time-out; sit on the bench; press the pause button on life; give myself some self-love (*snigger* actual term).
Everyone has different ideas when it comes to self-love. Some people go away on retreats; some do treks to reconnect with nature (*shudder*); some simply just need a night without the kids.
My choice of self-love comes in the form of discounts, coupons and bargains. So when a business card for fifty percent off hair colouring and cut was thrust into my palm, I decided I was well overdue for some me-time.
I lean back on the comfy chair and close my eyes. The warm water washes over my poorly maintained hair and the caressing hands of Salon Lady massages my scalp. It feels divine.
I ignore the voice. The smell of sweetly scented shampoo wafts towards my nose as it’s being lathered on my hair.
“Mummy! I’m bored.”
I can’t remember the last time I got a head massage. It feels great. I could almost fall asleep. Almost.
“Mum! Are you even listening to me?”
I open my eyes and peer over to my six-year-old fickle pickle.
“Darling, I told you that I would be here for a few hours,” I tell Mandy. “You insisted on coming with me.”
Mandy gives me The Look. A perfect combination of apathy and boredom you would expect from an adolescent.
“Why don’t you get some crayons and paper from the massive bag you made me carry and create something,” I say as I close my eyes. I’m desperately trying to emulate feelings of being pampered and relaxed. You know, the ones you’re supposed to have while getting hair treatment at an expensive boutique salon.
Salon Lady goes to get the heating towel.
“Mummy, you should see how much of your hair is in the sink!” Mandy exclaims, peeking into the basin.
“What?” I ask. There isn’t any point pretending to relax anymore.
“So so much hair. Mummy, that colour doesn’t suit you,” Mandy remarks, as if she’s a hair colouring expert.
“It’s my natural hair colour,” I reply dryly.
Salon Lady puts the towel on my conditioned hair and tells me to chill out. How on earth am I meant to ‘chill out’ with a Debbie Downer in my ear?
After what seemed like an age of listening to Mandy whine and getting a crook neck from being forgotten by Salon Lady, I shuffle over to the chair to have my hair cut. I see Mandy spinning in circles on a salon stool.
“Mandy! Stop that!” I yell out. “Jeez Louise.”
I continue chatting to Salon Lady about the real estate market. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mandy draped over two seats and doing horizontal leg presses.
“Mandy! Seriously!” I yell again. At the rate I’m jerking about, I’ll become a trendsetter in sporting lopsided haircuts.
As Salon Lady prepares to blow dry my hair, Mandy jumps up and down in front of me.
“Mum, I need to go,” Mandy mutters. “Like now.”
The salon doesn’t have a toilet.
Self-love total bill = 50% discount + 10% whining surcharge + 10% negative commentary tax + 100% quick exit fee
Doesn’t seem like much of a win, does it?
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