the password is football!

Going to the hairdresser and demanding to be made to look like Debbie Harry.
I suppose we have all been there at some point in our lives. I did so last week. My hairdresser was a frightening lady who began with throwing her long hair all over my head to prove that her hair colour would be cooler on me than mine. Slightly grossed out and seriously panicking I managed to squeak "I'm okay for colour thank you" while inside my head a voice screamed "GET OFF!" She then continued to make several attempts to either pull off my head or at least cave in my temples while yelling at her assistant who was trying to retrieve an email for her. "You don't need to be online to get emails!" I attempted a half-hearted "well actually..." but was silenced by a severe blow to the head with a killer brush. "It's the email adress from the card and the password is football. FOOTBALL. I am sure that the password is football!" Man am I tempted to hack into those! I won't because, honestly? I really don't care.

My hair bravely withstood the attack and is actually looking pretty good. The only lesson I learned is not to give your hairdresser any excuse to say something along the lines of: "well it is kind of a punk look so it doesn't matter if it isn't symmetric, it is supposed to be a bit wonky." Is it now. Judging from my time in the salon I am convinced however that she'd have said the same thing had I demanded to look like Angela Merkel. Ah well.