Haicuts and Magazines

I got myself a haircut today. That's not something special, I wear my hair short, it grows quickly and so I have to get a new haircut about once every eight weeks. It's something which doesn't bother me a lot.

I usually visit a rather cheap chain of hairdressers, both because I don't really care a lot about who cuts my hair (and the people working there surely are a good as the more expensive hairdressers, but at half the price) and because you don't need to make an appointment beforehand. I decide I need a haircut, I go there, I get it, done. That's how I like it.

The bad side to not having to make an appointment is that you usually have to wait a lot. But that's not a problem for me, on the whole, because I go to the hairdresser when I don't have an appointment to keep. So whether I wait twenty minutes or two hours doesn't make much of a difference.

This is where the magazines at the hairdresser come in. In Germany you'll find a bunch of magazines (usually in special covers) wherever you usually have to wait a lot. Doctors and hairdressers are on the top of that list, naturally. But while doctors usually keep a large variety of magazines stocked, the hairdressers have an overflow of gossip- and fashion-magazines and usually between two and three other magazines - which is the only kind I like to read. I'm a woman, but I'm not really partial to gossip ... or fashion.

And even I can't make one good magazine (the other one was missing) last for two hours. Waiting for the haircut this time was torture ... but, to be fair, I got a marvellous head-massage afterwards.

This has given me a lot of time to think and so I wondered about one article in the magazine (but more about that below) and the reason why most of the stuff they keep there is so ... girlie-like. I mean, am I the only woman in the world who only uses gossip- and fashion-magazines when she can't sleep? There's only so much time you can spent with the crossword-puzzles in there and afterwards they get boring - at least, if you're not interested in the whole "who has cheated on whom with whom"-spiel or the latest fashion trends from Milan (or elsewhere) you can only wear if you're one hour from starving to death.

Anyway, I survived the two hours and got myself a nice new haircut.