Gie It Laldy
At my hairdresser, as in salons everywhere, it's always been the case that once you've spoken to your stylist about what you want, one of the juniors, a wee 16 year old girl, washes your hair for you. However, in the last couple of years I've noticed that all the juniors are male. It's at least 4 cuts ago that I last got a female junior. Which is fine - the boys are just as nice. They chat to you when you've got your head in the weird sink with the hole that's supposed to be comfy (but isn't because whose head is shaped like THAT?), and I've never noticed any real difference between them. I'm sure it says something trenchant about industry and society and so forth, that more boys are opting to be hairdressers rather than engineers.
But that's not my point.
I went for a haircut on Friday, and got a new boy that I'd never seen before. He sat me down, and gently tucked a towel into my collar to stop my neck getting wet. He switched the water on and waited till it was the right temperature. He asked me a number of times if the water was too hot. He then applied the shampoo and started lathering me up. And by god, he applied himself to the task of washing my hair with every bit of muscle and sinew in his upper body. Of which there was considerably more than wee Chantelle has in her upper body, let me tell you.
This boy gave new meaning to the phrase 'gie it laldy'.
He had lots of beaded bracelets on his wrists, so in addition to feeling like my head was in a washing machine on spin cycle, there was a racket right in my ear from all his jewellery clinking about. I was sure the rest of the salon could hear the noise over the hairdryers, ringing phones, chattering and general hullabaloo. My neck was aching from the effort of trying to keep my head in the general vicinity of the sink, and the robe they put over me was sprayed with shampoo. It was the single most vigorous wash my hair has ever had. My hair has responded by being very unruly all weekend. It's obviously rebelling against the rough treatment.
The worst thing was that while I was in the chair I found the whole thing hilarious. This poor boy was doing the hairdresser thing, asking about my holiday plans and what I was doing at the weekend, and I was desperately trying not to laugh because all I could think about was that it felt like he was wanking my head.
If you'll excuse the expression.