“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 and give myself some self-love.
Everyone has different ideas when it comes to self-love. Some people go away on retreats. Some people do treks to reconnect with nature (*shudder*). Some people simply 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 leaned back on the comfy chair and closed my eyes. The warm water washed over my poorly maintained hair and the caressing hands of Salon Lady massaged my scalp. It felt divine.
I ignored the voice. The smell of sweetly scented shampoo wafted towards my nose as it was slathered on my hair.
“Mummy! I’m bored.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I got a head massage. It felt great. I almost fell asleep. Almost.
“Mum! Are you even listening to me?”
I opened my eyes and peered over to my six-year-old fickle pickle.
“Darling, I told you that I would be here for a few hours,” I told Mandy. “You insisted on coming with me.”
Mandy gave me The Look. A perfect combination of apathy and boredom expected from an adolescent.
“Why don’t you get some crayons and paper from the massive bag you made me carry and create something,” I said as I closed my eyes. I desperately tried 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 left to get the heating towel.
“Mummy, you should see how much of your hair is in the sink!” Mandy exclaimed, peeking into the basin.
“What?” I asked. There wasn’t any point pretending to relax anymore.
“So so much hair. Mummy, that colour doesn’t suit you,” Mandy remarked as if she was a hair colouring expert.
“It’s my natural hair colour,” I replied dryly.
Salon Lady placed the towel on my conditioned hair and asked me to chill out. How on earth was 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 shuffled over to the chair to have my hair cut. I saw Mandy spinning in circles on a salon stool.
“Mandy! Stop that!” I yelled out. “Jeez Louise.”
I continued chatting to Salon Lady about the real estate market. From the corner of my eye, I could see Mandy draped over two seats and doing horizontal leg presses.
“Mandy! Seriously!” I yelled again. At the rate I was jerking about, I’d become a trendsetter in sporting lopsided haircuts.
As Salon Lady prepared to blow dry my hair, Mandy jumped up and down in front of me.
“Mum, I need to go,” Mandy muttered. “Like now.”
The salon didn’t have a toilet.
Self-love total bill = 50% discount + 10% whining surcharge + 10% negative commentary tax + 100% quick exit fee
Not much of a win, right?
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