Reluctantly pluck for the water.

My brain and body appear to be working in conjunction for the first time in an age and with my newly acquired aerodynamic hair cut I have been quite the effervensant professional much to every one's surprise, though my usual razor sharp wit and sarcasm has taken a momentary hiatus as a result- a small price for commerce me thinks.



I've even become helpful, and suggested tedious tasks I could embark upon, much to my colleagues and superiors' delight. The fog is lifting my thinks- winter is on its way…hosanna!!



So it was time for my quarterly haircut.

The usual place and once more I booked and appointment with my pretty but slightly dim hairdresser Holly, and this time I felt more relaxed than ever. The usual politeness in declining other peoples' hospitality lay dead on the floor amongst the cocktail of different hair cuttings beneath my shoes. This time when I was asked if I wanted drink, I declared that a "lager" would be most favourable and to my astonishment she smiled and said "no problem." This was a moral victory for sure, as despite frequenting this peroxide, homosexual laden establishment at least 8 times now, I have only be offered a beer once- which I cherished way too much than I ought to. Since that fateful time, my only offerance was: "would you like a drink?" and being slightly embarrassed that a 16 year old man/boy had just washed my hair (still too proud to admit that his feminine fingers worked small miracles on my tired scalp) I tended to nervously ask what drinks are on offer despite being fully aware that a small, stubby bottle of Asda's own continental lager was sat waiting for me in their fridge. The usual crap reply would be "water, tea or coffee?" to which I would reluctantly pluck for the water.



My previous encounter saw me brave newer territories (which turned out to be a deciding factor in my newly found confidence) as being given the aforementioned list of beverages I asked curiously "what cold drinks do you have?" thinking this a more polite- if not indirect approach to being offered a beer. My response:



"We've got orange?"



Anyway, this time as I watched some chap quaffing a glass of wine, I figured "what the hell" and decided to push the boat out.



As I strutted out of their premises I stopped by as many shop windows to ensure that the 'do' still look sensational. I rode on the train with a new sense of purpose and confidence. I enjoyed the attention from the female commuters. I felt like Arthur Fonzarelli. Upon striding into the flat, I found my better half in the bedroom surrounded my reports, writing at break neck speed and looking stressed and full of woe. "aha- she looking vulnerable, she's already on the bed- and I look like a new man…a sexier man" I thought. I checked my hair in the mirror one last time and stood opposite her for a minute until her eyes caught mine.



"I thought you said you were getting your hair cut- it looks exactly the same" she said sincerely.



Still- at least for those twenty something minutes I felt great.