My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding - By Katya Starkey Page 0,54
a rather sensitive scalp.” I’m struggling to retain a sense of civilised calm in my voice.
“Oh well why didn’t you say so?” Stacy brightens and smiles at me in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve got just the thing for you.”
Finally, she uses a wide-toothed brush on my hair. It’s a bit better —pain wise— until the torture begins again when she starts the actual hair transformation. My blonde locks are twisted and yanked upwards so tightly, then pinned in place, I don’t think I’m going to be able to blink once this is all over.
“All right now I’ve got to turn you round for this bit. I want the end result to be a surprise!” Stacy claps her hands together excitedly. She spins me round in my seat and I’m inclined to think of her recent words as utterly useless. I wasn’t able to see my reflection in the mirror any way, due to tears of pain flooding my inner eyelids.
More yanking of hair later and I’ve pulled through the pain.
“Finished?” My voice is wobbly. I’m shaken due to having to endure such torture upon my noggin.
“Finished!” Stacy whirls my chair back round.
I stare in disbelief at my reflection. My scalp is throbbing after having been blow-dried to within an inch of its life, at one point. My eyes are still watery, causing hazy vision, but I can definitely see what Stacy has done to my poor hair.
When she said she’d combined all of the images I’d suggested, she wasn’t kidding. Tilting my head, my jaw drops open in astonishment as I peruse the helmet atop my head that was once known as hair. There are so many swirls and curls pinned up at odd angles, my eyes are starting to cross. The worst of it is that from my forehead to crown are braided corn rows trailing in straight lines.
“Tee-nah!” I wail, no longer giving a fig about decorum. “Help!”
Tina comes racing into the salon from her rear office. “What’s happening — Oh dear god.” She states flatly upon seeing my supposed bridal updo. “Stacy, have you gone mad?”
As much as Tina’s chastising her trainee, she hasn’t moved towards us in the slightest and she keeps looking behind herself. “I… umm… I’ll be right back!” Tina rushes away just as I spot her trolley shaped robot floating into the salon area. She shoos it back and reappears moments later. “Right then.” Tina dismisses Stacy, telling her to take her break.
Stacy’s response is a mere shrug of the shoulders as she departs. She might not have a care in the world for what she’s done to my head, but I certainly do.
“I thought you said you were going to do my hair, Tina.” I whimper because I’m feeling sore headed and quite let down.
“I was… oh, Emily, I’m so sorry, I… just let me fix this for you. Okay?” Tina reaches out as though to start taking bobby pins out of my hair. When I yelp in agony though, she reconsiders her tactics. I try to ask her how she can employ someone like Stacy, but Tina isn’t forth coming about anything. I’m not the only person with watery eyes in this salon. Tina also looks like she’s about to start crying any minute now.
So I leave it. I don’t say another word about my disastrous hairdo. Tina guides me back to the sinks and tells me she’ll soak Stacy’s mistake out of my hair, so that I don’t have to suffer any more pain.
Two hours later I’m sitting in the salon chair with a do that’s finally made me happy. Tina has worked wonders with my locks and she did it all without causing me any further harm. She’s a miracle worker and I’m left staring at her handiwork in the mirror’s reflection.
I sigh in relief and I smile with joy. I’m so glad I’m finally pleased with this updo, because as far as I’m concerned, I’m never going to be able to take my hair down. I simply don’t want to risk harming my scalp all over again.
Chapter 13
It’s not often I feel deserving of a glass of wine in the afternoon. Today just so happens to be one of those days. I’m trying to keep my weight loss in check though, so not just any high calorie wine will do. I head to Morrisons on my way home. Once there I pick up a bottle of Weight Watchers red. Diet wine at its finest. The stuff