Cold Comfort
Slowly she inched towards me with a sharp implement in her hand. The damage she would inflict upon me would be cruel and terrifying.
My hairdresser had a cold and I would soon have a taste of the suffering she was experiencing.
The hairdressers I go to is not a state of the art affair with designer fittings and hairdressers with names like Anton and Marcus. Instead it’s a very small room filled with hairspray and mousse ready to fall from narrow counters and also doubles as a men’s barbers. A young boy was in the chair next to me in the barbers section eyed up his hairdresser with a deep suspicion.
With the usual pleasantaries over (ie “Are you doing anything nice tonight?” “No, are you?” “No” “Oh Well then”) she proceeded to tell me that she had a really wretched cold. A cold which, by her heroic attempts to struggle into work, I was now destined to catch. To give her her due she was able to tame the disaster zone which my hair had become but she also left the seeds of her virus in amongst the remaining follicles. This act of sharing complete, when next I touched my hair the cold time bomb would be released to choke my system.
My hair looked good but the timebomb duly went off. The sore throat started and I immediately took some Echinacea. Sadly this didn’t seem to have much effect but I took more just in case my cold would have been worse had I not taken any. Next I started to cough and tried some lockets. Strangely however, the coughing got worse the more lockets I took so I stopped that. By the time the runny nose started I know that the game was up and I might as well accept that I had a cold. Well, share and share alike I always say so I then took it into my own work and liberally spread it around.
I’m still snuffling. I wonder if I should go back to the hairdressers and give her it back?
My hairdresser had a cold and I would soon have a taste of the suffering she was experiencing.
The hairdressers I go to is not a state of the art affair with designer fittings and hairdressers with names like Anton and Marcus. Instead it’s a very small room filled with hairspray and mousse ready to fall from narrow counters and also doubles as a men’s barbers. A young boy was in the chair next to me in the barbers section eyed up his hairdresser with a deep suspicion.
With the usual pleasantaries over (ie “Are you doing anything nice tonight?” “No, are you?” “No” “Oh Well then”) she proceeded to tell me that she had a really wretched cold. A cold which, by her heroic attempts to struggle into work, I was now destined to catch. To give her her due she was able to tame the disaster zone which my hair had become but she also left the seeds of her virus in amongst the remaining follicles. This act of sharing complete, when next I touched my hair the cold time bomb would be released to choke my system.
My hair looked good but the timebomb duly went off. The sore throat started and I immediately took some Echinacea. Sadly this didn’t seem to have much effect but I took more just in case my cold would have been worse had I not taken any. Next I started to cough and tried some lockets. Strangely however, the coughing got worse the more lockets I took so I stopped that. By the time the runny nose started I know that the game was up and I might as well accept that I had a cold. Well, share and share alike I always say so I then took it into my own work and liberally spread it around.
I’m still snuffling. I wonder if I should go back to the hairdressers and give her it back?
