This is me just after I left the hairdresser.
Note the smooth glossy hair, the meticulous blow-wave, the precision curled ends. Not a stray hair to be seen. Not on my head, anyway.
This is me about ten minutes later, after I hopped out of the shower.
Sure, I would love to get around for more than ten minutes looking like a well-kept news reader, but what you can't see in the first picture, is the tens of millions of tiny, itchy, annoying red hairs that have been cut off my head and transferred to every other inch of my body.
Transferred how? Because they blow-dry them there! Even into my shoes. Even the baby got covered in hair today.
I don't understand the order of things at hairdressers.
They insist on washing your hair as soon as you arrive, even though I always tell them I washed it the night before.
Then they cut it.
Then they blow-dry it, making you look like a millions bucks from the chin up, while simultaneously ensuring that below the shoulders you look like the Gruffalo.
Why don't they cut it, wash it and then blow-dry it?
At least then I could turn up for school pick-up looking like a yummy-mummy for once, rather than the scummy-mummy I more typically represent.