Tuesday, 8. September 2009, 07:23:09
Yesterday I went to the hairdresser.
For those of you having noticed how I appear on photos, I'd better mention that I am well aware that it would be a waste of good money if I went to the hairdresser with the intention of dressing the poor remains of my hair. And since I am not a milliohaire, I wouldn't dream of doing a thing like that.
No, on the contrary I drove The Missus,
she who must be obeyed, to the hairdresser. While she was dealt with by the also pretty looking hairdresser, doing what hairdressers do and talking with my wife the way women do, I thought I could just as well sit down and read a magazine while waiting for the end of the hairdressing process. I was looking forward to going back home. Lunch was waiting. And I like eating salmon on rye bread for lunch. With a beer.
I browsed through the magazines on the very small table next to me. I looked for car magazines, sport magazines - or, if everything else failed me, a magazine about photography.
There was nothing like that in the pile of magazines on the very small table. I had been given a very small cup of coffee, though. In order to help me pass the time, I guess.
I sat patiently with my very small cup of coffee, waiting. I finished the coffee in one and a half minute. At that time the two beautiful women - the hairdresser and my wife - hadn't even finished their hellos. I knew by experience that figuring out what kind of hairstyle, what colour of eyelashes and what sort of spraying-stuff to apply to The Missus' hair would easily take another five to ten minutes. Doing the decided stuff would be another hour. After that my wife would probably spend 10 minutes deciding what kind of expensive shampoo to buy before we could finally hit the road and get home to the impatiently waiting salmon on rye bread with a beer.
I picked up a magazine. I didn't know that mag, but I understood that it was about well-known people. Not that I knew any of them - but that's probably my fault. They were apparently all rich. They had style and class. They also had a lot of worries - like what house to buy, or what solicitor to use when they had been the innocent victim of some scam - or sometimes about what to eat in order not to become so damned fat.
Suddenly I noticed somebody I knew! Victoria Beckham!!
I understood that Victoria Beckham would very much like to appear on the cover of another magazine called "Vogue". But earlier the pretty Victoria decided to have a photo-shoot with a third magazine called "Elle" - and now "Vogue" would know nothing about her.
Victoria was so sorry. She felt abandoned. Serious problems. Very serious problems.
Being such a kind and helpful man as I am, I decided to help Victoria Beckham out. Maybe those stupid editors on "Vogue" were ignorant and posh, but at least I would like to make a difference.
Dear Victoria (I hope it's okay to address you this way) - it may be that it's a cruel and vicious world out there, but now you can at least tell everybody that you appeared on Allan's Weblog.
I do hope this helps.
And the salmon was fine, the beer even finer. After two hours everything goes.
Without further
adieu, I will end this entry.
WIDGETIZE