I am not now writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar narrative by observations very much at random.
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
I have just had my hair cut. It is frightful. Armed with a very particular style in mind which I had seen on a girl in the street I explained it carefully to the hairdresser.
'Y'know, shorter. With layers to about here and... the fringe shorter. But not too short.'
'To about where?' The busty stylist ventured boredly, holding a thick strand at a right angle to my head.
'Eh... here. ' I said, gesturing vaugely to the back of my head. Bad move. Shoving my chair savagely towards the mirror and stamping on a lever so that I bounced up a few feet, she picked up her scissors and got to work. She pursed her lips and lopped a large chunk of hair from behind my ear. Barely able to surpress my gasp, I stared openmouthed as she began to slice ruthlessly around my skull. Thick hanks of hair fell from her fingers on to my shoulders and drifted from there to the tiled floor.
'Gemma!' she roared suddenly and I jumped. 'Go upstairs and get me my bag, it's white with buckles, and find me a fucking trainee to do my two o' clock! Hold your head straight' she muttered at me and jerked my chin up with two fingers.
How long will I have to keep chopping at her hair until she says something? her cruel, fake-tanned face seemed to say. My permanant wince said it all. A few minutes later, she stopped cutting, put down her scissors and picked up a hairdryer and burnt my scalp for a while. Greasing her palms with a handful of slime, she ripped her fingers through my hair until it was slick and plastered to the side of my face. Adjusting her thong (or something inside her trousers; I didn't dwell on it), she stood back to admire her handiwork.
'Now, how's that for ya?' She barked proudly to her own reflection in the mirror.
'Great, thanks a lot' I whispered and slid meekly off the leather chair. My self-respect and dignity in tatters on the floor with a large portion of my hair, I sloped over to the front desk with my newly shorn and basted head and paid €38.50 plus tip to the wanton harlot. Yes, I am pathetic.
In response to an enquiry as to how I managed to put my underwear on upside down I am now furnishing you with a detailed description. Because I am so modest and ladylike, I will use an analogy. An analogy is something us clever people use when we want to appear clever. Pay attention or this may go over your heads!
Right, imagine you are putting on a jumper. Your head goes in one hole and your arms through the other two, right? Now imagine you have put your head through one of the armholes and everything feels a little bit wrong. But you dont usually wear this kind of jumper so you're not sure what it's supposed to feel like. Maybe the people who wear this kind of jumper are used to the discomfort and maybe you will get used to it too. So you head off out and get drunk and forget all about your uncomfortable jumper.
Do we all understand now?