Sometimes, when left to your own devices

you might find yourself on a sunny, Sunday afternoon, post morning workout, full of the heady mix of endorphine and caffeine buzz, roast chicken dinner and glass of red wine haziness, an element of twitchy boredom and a too-bloody-handy pair of sharp scissors, (which just so happen to be excellent for cutting hair); fighting the overwhelming urge to radically change something.  And it isn’t the decor.  Even though my inner dialogue is saying, “put the scissors down and step away from the mirror immediately, Anne Pank”, I’m not listening.  In fact I’m tellling it to go the f*ck to Hell and mind it’s own business.  If I want to cut a fringe in, I bloody well will cut a fringe in and ain’t no-one going to stop me.  Oh wait, that’s exactly true because there’s no-one here.  Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!

I really appreciate it, when I get a little bit of time absolutely and completely on my own, because it doesn’t happen very often and honestly, I bloody love my own company.  But it’s in these solitary moments, that I appear to have the kind of impish urges that usually end up in crazy dye jobs and wonky hair cuts that need rectifying professionally and/or nearly burning my eyes all the way out of my head with glue, trying to do my own eyelash extensions. I don’t even wear them, I’m just innately curious.  (Read: a bit misguided.)  I have painted walls ‘interesting’ colours before now, but that’s not possible in my sub-let.

It is blindingly apparent that I am still that mischievious five year-old girl who, with poor old Schmookie the family cat wedged firmly between my calves, tried to ‘give her fur a little trim’ with my bright blue, plastic child’s scissors, when I thought there was no-one about.  For schmookie’s sake thankfully there was, in the shape of my parents standing quietly behind me until the eleventh hour, when, with scissors poised menacingly above a clump of gripped fur, my mother uttered, “eeerrr herm”.

My results could be either of these

My results could be either of these

So it may well be, that the next time we chat, I’ve given myself a proper saucy bowl-cut or super-cybery-spacedy-kind-of-Terrahawks fringe, entirely by acccident, but with all good, ‘in the interest of science’ or ‘I’m a little bit bored’, intentions.

Footnote: I hope you remember Terrahawks, the Gerry Anderson 80s classic and one of the most terrifying children’s televisión shows around.  If not, look it up kids.  If you’re nerdy hip, it’s right up your street and it will provide you with some retro-cool fodder to impress your friends.

Remember, you saw it here first………. You’re welcome.

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