It’s a busy weekend in the G-S household. Elspeth is driving down from Scotland with her young man, Jessica moved house last week and talks to me about Plumbing, Helen is moving flats in Edinburgh and Lucy and Jenny continue their party-focused life. Geez, the social life of an eighteen year old! It seems every weekend brings yet another 18th birthday with dancing into the wee sma’s. You’d think the supply of eighteen year olds would run out eventually (I suppose it must at some time) but, at the moment, it seems a fairly endless stream.
The dancing is usually provided by our local hairdresser and barber, Keith. Let me explain. I don’t mean that his salon is fitted out with flashing lights, a disco ball and a sound system, but Keith, like most hairdressers, has another job, and Mr K is a DJ. It’s a neat trick; first he does your hair, then sees you let it down on the dancefloor. He was doing my hair yesterday, as (gasp) I was going to a party. Not a disco, unfortunately; but a 60th birthday meal. While he was doing my hair, Mr K provided a moment of pure stand-up comedy. The shop has a large plate-glass window which looks out onto a fairly busy square. He stopped snipping and gazed at the window.
“What’s happening, Keith?” I asked. I couldn’t see because I’ve got to take my glasses off to have my hair done in the first place. You know that bit at the hairdressers where they hold a mirror up and show you the back? I always say, “That’s lovely,” as I’ve got the idea there’s some hair there, but I can’t actually see anything.
“A young lady in boots,” he said, returning to the matter in hand. (ie My Hair; very important.) “I love girls in boots. It does it for me every time.”
At this point the young lady in boots entered the shop. “Hello, Keith,” she said.
“Hi,” replied Keith, then, took up his previous train of thought. “Nice boots.”
She looked rather startled and, putting her hands under her chest, hitched up her boobs. “Thanks,” she said in a puzzled sort of way. “They’re all mine!”
Having an OH who is more than a little hard of hearing, this made me smile, but I hope in the young lady's case it was i-plugs in her ears and not real hearing loss. It's the consonants the hard-of-hearing can't hear... hilarious or frustrating depending on mental state.
ReplyDeleteRegarding birthdays, daughter2's head of sixth (in calling for restraint over 18th birthday bashes) put it this way: 'there are over a hundred girls in the year, so by the law of averages, two of them will have a birthday each week.' When it's reduced to simple arithmetic it makes sense.
Oh, great story! I howled. I'll bet she'd been to too many discos.
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