Hair brained

There was a man in my hair dressing salon this morning having his eyebrows dyed.
I closed my eyes and listened to the fatuous conversation of the women around me. The vocabulary was straight out of an American sit-com. Whatever! Upwards inflections all over the place, Wag accessories and a blinding need to look and be look like some non-entity off Big Brother. Who has spawned this new animal? Me, The Sun, Channel 5, who? It’s like a rogue cell has escaped from a lab and before the blinking of an eye a whole new world, without bravery, has replicated itself all over the planet.
Fake tanned, tattooed, flabby midriffed – as thick as two ‘Hello’ Mags stuck together, it disturbs me .One day I shall commit hairy-cairy in the salon.
I bought furry tape for my toes so that I can wear my new thonged sandals, met Jim for a coffee, was turned down for an up-grade on my telephone, and bought food at the farmers market.
I got very upset at the plight of my two girl friends who were meant to be with me today, accidents and children happened.
Then, whilst scrubbing the lavatory, I burst into tears. All that money spent on my new hair do and nobody to see it but my own reflection in the toilet bowl.
I shall mow the lawn later, read my book and maybe even go for a walk in in the orchard.
That’s my Saturday for you