Unusually for a Tuesday afternoon I found myself in Worksop with time to trawl all the charity shops, of which there are many. I was in male mode but wearing nothing male. I spotted a unisex barbers, with only one customer, who was just leaving, and stepped in as I had reached the “mad professor “stage (tbh I had reached this weeks ago but had been putting it off).
The lady cut my hair and we chit chatted as you do. As an aside, like Doctors being told random ailments, people always have a problem with their homes when I say I am a Surveyor. At the end, and I am not sure how it came about, I told her that if I wasn’t thinning on top and if I didn’t end up looking like Doc Emmett from Back to the future I would wear my hair long. She asked if that is what I always wanted and I said yes. In reply she told me how the previous weekend she had watched a childrens talent show and had spent the whole time thinking one of the contestants, who had lovely curls, was a girl and had been surprised to find it was a boy. In that moment I realised she had most likely worked me out, and I was gripped by a strong urge to tell her. Why, I know not? Perhaps it is not dissimilar to the Confessional?
After the longest pause I let it drop, paid, and said goodbye. Instantly I regretted not telling her. I even considered going back, which would have been weird. Certainly reinforces the old adage about regretting more what we don’t do than what we do do. I have no idea why it was suddenly so important to me to share this with a stranger. It would be more understandable if I didn’t have the support of my wonderful SO Maureen, who said “it will come when it’s ready” when I related this event to her. I think that may be pertinent and relates back to the times I want to confide in some of my colleagues, being convinced they too must have worked it out (and yes I am fully behind the concept that the bell cannot be unrung).
Lastly I know it should be a “Hairs breadth”, but having got it wrong in my head, I was quite taken with it.