Having my hairdryer blow up on me last Friday (6th) has certainly turned out to my advantage. But don’t tell me that when I’m standing on linoleum, dryer in hand waiting for it to burst into flames whilst examining the scorch mark on my t-shirt, it might just not go down too well.
The time for another electrical appliance of some contraption-type invention to blow up on me was drawing closer anyway. It had been nigh on 10 years since the last time. Only, last time I was in the UK where the volts are twice as nice; 220 to be exact. On the previous occasion, it was an iron. Took me a long time to use one of those again. I had a lovely black scorch mark up my right arm. I certainly felt the extent of my mortality that day. Although, I must admit, that too became an advantage. “Mum, could you iron this for me – I’m crapping bullets here thinking about it.”
Although, that too, like the hair dryer before it (yes, another one) was mysteriously my fault. Yes, you’re right, I willed the iron to blow up on me half-way-through, so I could walk around with sat on clothes, and a singe mark the size of a small infant on my underarm. Incidentally, the woven flex was thread-bare in one spot. Point for concern? Yes, I say. Reason to purchase a new one? Apparently not. Just wrap some electrical tape around it and call it good. It’ll be fine until it blows again. Thanks Mum, for installing the “if it’s not broken, don’t bother buying a new one, Siobhan’s still with us” mentality into my mind, even though I was too hysterical and anxiety-stricken to notice.
So I digress. I went and bought myself a new hairdryer. It’s snazzy. It looks super cool. And it works. What sold me? Not the super-quiet, high speed dry. Not the ergonomic hand design for comfortable drying. It was the lint filter doors that “open with the press of a button for easy cleaning.” It’s like a space craft. I love this thing!
Although, I have to say, I do love the “ionic” feature. Dries my hair in no time. I’ve also had to stop using as much conditioner or leaving it on as long. This leaves it all silky smooth.
Someone asked: “Did Siobhan get her hair cut differently?”
“No. She bought a new hairdryer.”
My hair now moves with slow-motion spleandour. Gone are the days of hair pomade requirements (and superglue) to calm down the frizzies. It, my dear friends, has been tossed aside like a Commodore 64 in a pawn shop.
This is my last post till I update when we reach the UK. We’ll land in Heathrow around 6 a.m. (GMT – 1 a.m. ET) Tuesday. Have a great weekend everyone.