P went out GAMBLING last night. Well, okay, he went to play poker with some old chums, but still. Gambling! I am too scared to gamble, as childhood memories of playing the tuppence "waterfall" game in the Skerries amusement arcade suggest that I would turn into a total addict in about five minutes. I remember my cousin Elaine and I feverishly putting in more and more 2p coins into the machine in the hope that they would knock other 2p coins off the "waterfall" and into the tray where we could collect them. Sometimes we'd knock off a whole shower of coins, but we never even came out with enough to buy a Dairy Milk, for all our profits went straight back in to the machine.
So you see why I never want to start gambling. I would never stop. And now I have a lot more money to lose than I did when I was ten.
Anyway, P didn't gamble away the house or the car or Ju Ju (although before he went out to GAMBLE, he threatened to bet all three, although we both had to admit that Ju Ju wouldn't be much of a prize for anyone), and indeed apparently won vast sums (well, twenty quid). But still, I shan't be tempted.
In other fascinating domestic news, I got my hair cut today. I am not impressed. Never fear, it's not a disaster, but as I suspected, my usual stylist's replacement refused to believe me when I said I just wanted a trim. I get very expensive haircuts because my hair is very, very thick, and quite coarse, and only achieves its managable shininess thanks to fancy trims which layer it underneath so it manages to be long and sleek and doesn't stick out like a Christmas tree. However! This wasn't enough for the new stylist, who spent about 20 minutes telling me that straight air really wasn't in anymore.
Me: I know, but straight hair is what I have. I don't want you to iron it, I just want it thinned underneath and dried relatively flat - it'll curl under at the bottom anyway - and slightly layered at the front so I don't look like I'm peering out behind curtains. I don't want flowing curls because they will be insanely high maintenance and it takes me 25 minutes to wash my hair anyway.
Her: But don't you want a bit of the heaviness taken out?
Me: Yes, that's why I want you to thin it out underneath. As my stylists here always have done.
So she grudgingly agreed not to layer my hair all over in the manner of Limahl (or Katie from Coronation Street, which is more or less the same thing). But she kept insisting that if she did layer it so it went curly, it would be really easy to manage "if you had the right product". Now, I use Bumble and Bumble conditioner which costs thirty quid a bottle, so I am not averse to fancy products. However, I wash my hair once every five days (told you it wasn't greasy) and I don't want to have to spend similar amounts on something I need to put in my hair every single day in order not to look like I'm wearing a fright-wig. My hair is high-maintenance by default; I am not, ever, going to make it any more so. I think the stylist realised this after it took well over an hour to blow dry my hair. Heh heh heh.
But! She wasn't finished, because when trimming the layers at the front, she made them too, well, layery - she made the layers go back way too far, and she cut them too bluntly. It looks okay, but it wasn't what I wanted, and it wasn't what I had just paid sixty quid to get done. So I am pretty pissed off at that particular over-priced hairdressing chain (which may have the initials T and G).