Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble

My hairdresser, who I am not naming as am about to share a whole lot of skinder, is one of my favourite people in the world. Apart from the fact that he makes me look pretty he is also my beloved source of news presented in such an elaborate, no doubt exaggerated and highly detailed fashion that it often makes me, as a journalist, wish that all informants were hairdressers.

As a result I don't really mind that it takes for ever to cover all my grey hair and between tint and treatment and trim it takes all morning, as it turns out that this is time perfectly spend witnessing life's little dramas.

So the other day my hairdresser and I am in a passionate discussion about new hairstyles, colour and so on when two women walk into the salon. Loud women. Women who are wearing gym clothes to the salon (my ouma would be upset) but show no sign of having worked out. They are here for their "up-do", they say - in very loud voices - it is a small salon but their collective very nasal, high-pitched voice volume would also have made it audible in Builders Warehouse,

By then we had forgotten our discussion and we were watching what was later referred to as " the drama." (with appropriate handsigns)

"I think they are prostitutes," my hairdresser mumbles. "And she is definitely not 35."

The reference to age followed a loud discussion with the older one wishing for her hair to be done in what in the 1980's was euphemistically known as "a bubble."  Her hairdresser subtly suggested that an ... ahem ... older woman might look more elegant with something less girly. Frankly I would think that anybody aged 35 would know better than to try "the bubble" again but who am I to judge.

Lucky for us, as I would still have been there otherwise, there was a lull in the action with the suspicious duo were ushered to the basins to have their hair washed and treated and blow dryed.

When this was done they proceeded to put on roughly about 20 layers of make-up including fake eyelashes.

By now the two's beautifying routine had captured all eyes in the salon so when one of the other stylists suggested that they might have a problem to take off their tightly fitting gymtops without messing up hair and smudging make-up it prompted a lively discussion under the clients about how exactly to proceed.

The scary 35-year old however assured everyone that she had done this "thousands of times" which of course prompted the hairdresser and me to giggle uncontrollably.

And then the battle of the bubble started. First the delusional woman made the poor stylist do the bubble about 11 times. He politely points out that she had fine hair which, in the absence of possibly a cementlike hairspray, will likely refuse to be bullied into a bubble roughtly the height of the Twin Towers. She then grabs the brush and "works on the bubble herself."

Eventually after filling half the earth's atmosphere with hairspray, her arms also got tired and she sourly declared that "this would have to do."

As she turns to leave, my lovely much adored hairdresser said in what we both call his "theatrical voice": "Have a bottle of complimentary hairspray. You are going to need it..." This prompted her to give him a dirty look and a stare.

"It makes you look at least 40, he said as he turned and ran for the safety of his scissors.