Isn't it ironic?

So at work we're getting a new head honcho this month, coming in from across the country. She seems like a good sort, although I haven't met her. One of the things we're doing for her is writing job descriptions and taking photos of all her staff so that she can figure out who we are and what we do. 

It was last week or so that the order for photos came in, and mine is scheduled for tomorrow. And I took one look at myself in the bathroom mirror and thought -- I cannot reasonably be photographed with a bad haircut, grown out. As long-time readers can attest, hair is a real problem for me. I don't like my hair, and have rarely found a hairdresser who is any good at cutting it. The last one who was good quit cutting hair around the time I returned to work from mat leave, and I haven't found a good one since. The one I've been using cuts the hair nicely, but it doesn't work on my hair, and it grows out terribly. 

So I've been putting off a hair cut not knowing what to do and where to go and just having a lack of time. But the photo taking was a deadline -- I could not have a picture the way it was. 

So one of my colleagues has a great haircut, but she tells me that her hairdresser only works part time and you can't get a hair cut with her for love nor money less than a month in advance. This is last week, of course, but in my optimism I called anyway. I wanted a cut on Tuesday! The day after the holiday! Who else would want that day?

Lots of folks. So I didn't get an appointment for that hairdresser ("She's booked on all her weekends until October; did you want to make an appointment for then?") but the receptionist, smart lady, did sell me on another hairdresser. So I made the appointment. 

Yesterday was my one day off from everything for the month, and I really just wanted to sit back and read the whole day because this cold? Not getting better. Getting worse, in terms of congestion in fact. Whee! But I went anyway, dragged myself four blocks to the place, sat for an hour and a half and made small talk (my favourite!) and went home. The cut? Ees mahvellous, dahling. (Although we'll see how it is when I wash it and do it, and how it grows.)

The irony? If I'm feeling this bad tomorrow, there's no way I'll be at work for photos.