I hate getting my haircut. It's an utter trauma every single time. Tomorrow, after putting it off for a couple of weeks and no longer being able to put up with my monstrously unkempt hair I'm going to get it cut. Really.
I say that confidently now, but tomorrow I may well report something else entirely, finding some excuse not to have done it. It's ridiculous really. So pathetic are the reasons that it is only through the medium of the Internet that I could actually express them.
Firstly, I get my haircut in a barber run by a bunch of alpha-male, swearing, beer swigging, misogynistic, straight men. This is more out of habit than preference I might add (I've been going there since I was about 8), and really these salt-of-the-earth machos are quite nice at heart. However, it also means like-minded people get their haircut here (due to preference rather than habit). So I have to sit in the waiting room with these people, who all look at me like I'm an alien. Actually, this perception is most certainly down to paranoia, but nevertheless I sit down, cross my legs (in the manliest way possible of course) and chew my nails. Come to think of it I must look like a heroin addict suffering withdrawal symptoms (but with the fortunate absence of priapism!) which is actually what leads people to look in my direction more than anything else.
Anyway, once I've sat there for an unbearably long amount of time (usually 10 minutes), I have to take my hat off and release my hair, freshly washed (they don't wash your hair here like the high street designer hairdressers) and explain how I want it cut - an impossible task of course because I haven't got a clue about the hair dressing world nor have I ever attempted to look into it. I don't know what particular hairstyles mean or what a "Number 2" or a "Number 3" really mean. Nevertheless, since I've been going there for a number of years with only 2 changes in hairstyle, they get the gist of what I mean. You often get a different barber from the last time, and they all have different variations on my theme, but it all works out in the end. Anyway, I hate having to speak out loud amongst these people. I sound so obviously gay when I speak even the simplest of sentences, so I speak as quietly as possible in the gruffest voice I can muster without being ridiculous.
And then I have to sit through the whole haircut thing whilst being close to silent as the barber makes a couple of attempts to interact with me before realising such an attempt is pointless (they do this every time). And every time they also ask if I want them to put gel in my hair, which I do, but as only I have the ability to style my hair how I want it, I say "no" and explain that I'm going to put my hat back on.
Then I leave.
I should mention that prior to this I have to go through the whole rigmarole of sorting my face out, seeing if spots look bad, etc. (because they get so close to your face). This pre-haircutting process is actually the bit that takes up the largest amount of time, hours sometimes. I have this inability to accept that my spots aren't as bad as I think they are. Every single person I speak to says that I haven't even got any spots, or hardly any, but all I can see are really bad spots. And even I know inside that they are virtually non-existent, but my eyes tell me different on some days. Of course, the fact that they get so close to my face when cutting my hair makes me scrutinise myself more than usual, which causes more of a problem than usual.
So why not just go somewhere else to get my haircut? I have thought about it, not particularly in depth (where I get my haircut is not something I can be bothered to consider at too much length). But I have realised that everywhere else I could get my hair cut is full of absolutely gorgeous and, admittedly, probably gay hair dressers. But ignoring their sexuality, they are gorgeous and then I feel like I'm being judged. At least going to an overtly straight place I can add an element of disregard to this feeling of judgement, which helps a bit, even if the feeling of relief provided by such inattention is minute.
I know, I know. A psychological palaver for nothing, but hey, that's how it is. It's not just getting my hair cut, just leaving the house can be a chore for me sometimes. And then for days at a time I have bouts of extreme confidence. I'm so tired of this!!