A Cameo....

Introducing our very first male post, from our dear and beloved Durban. He felt the need to share this story on PMS and CBS as perhaps he was in fact experiencing some PMS himself, which clouded his otherwise good judgement...
GIVE IT UP FOR DURBAN.........

Why men were just never meant to dye their hair...

It is unfortunate that at the tender age of 22 I have begun my downward spiral to middle agedness and caught a couple (couple being completely under exaggerated but it makes me feel better) of silver hairs sprouting from my scalp. Yes it is a sign of wisdom, yes its esteemed bla bla yadder yadder, I’m 24 years old for god sakes! There are many years when this look will serve me well, but just not now!

So my theory has always been that as I embrace this concept of metro sexuality, if the solution is as easy as coating your head with a substance and letting it ferment for a little then…..why the bloody hell not! When I lived in Durban and everything (I mean everything) was half the price as it is in the big smoke I would every now and then have some nice young lady coat and ferment at a reasonable fee. Enter Dave and Johan…..in my quest to find a hairdresser in the big smoke I venture over to the center opposite my work and ask whether they would be willing to cut, coat and ferment and what fee they would be requesting. The lovely young lady said something ridiculous like R800.00 after which I promptly reminded her that I dint want to acquire shares in her fine establishment but only a cut, coat and ferment. I decided to settle for the cut (which I won’t lie in Durban probably would have got me the majority shareholding) and decided that I could always resort to a box later (bad bad bad idea)…..

Oh and who the bloody hell are Dave and Johan anyway……

Granted the haircut was like something out of this world, (partly cause I still cant identify the instruments she took to my head and started slashing around with and partly cause the head massage was long enough for me to fall asleep too) but wow what a price.

Now a little financially scarred I did resort to the box, thinking that because I now live with a woman she can surely offer the same service as that lovely young lady over at Dave and Johan’s for a fraction of the price…….wow what a bad bad idea. (I will reserve comment at this stage as to whether it was a bad idea due to tit being half drunk and wholly inadequate at the job and perhaps let you decide).

After I had spent much time trying to decide whether I wanted to spend R60 or R80 or R100 on the box (anything above out of the question) I came home finally with a well suited colour at a reasonable price and waited patiently for my reprobate flat mate to return home from the pub, sorry I mean work, sorry I mean Nashua (all the same really).

As she entered the door…….I took it upon myself to do the mixing (who reads instructions these days when you have a supposed expert to guide you) and put the tube of stuff into the bottle with the breaky bit at the end.

My reprobate flat mate then began to coat…….and coat and coat…..yawn……… and then left me unsupervised (bad bad idea) to go have a shower.

Well after sometime and when I noticed white shit all over my head I decided to consult the instructions. In momentary panic and what now turns out to be complete lapse of judgment (again I was unsupervised) I realized that the shit in tube was the conditioner and the reactor stuff was what I intended to use as the conditioner…..hmmm, what to do. So I then decided that because I refused to waste the money saved so far I would mix what was left and the new reactor stuff into the applicator bottle and coat myself (my female supervision still unfortunately showering).

Now since hers is the only other room (yes it does have carpets and white linen) with a mirror (other than the bathroom of course), I head off to her dressing table with my newly mixed concoction and begin to coat myself (obviously without gloves, really why do you need them). I coat the remainder on my head and very proud rub it all over for I remember something about having to do this so as to have it come out even……oh well (at this stage blissfully unaware that the conditioner and reactive crap don’t gel well and the reactive crap has reduced the conditioner to a substance with a water like texture and no staying power)!

It began when I couldn’t understand why this shit was running down my face like a mud slide but calmly I figured I must just wipe it off with toilet paper! Well one entire double ply roll later (I lasted this long because of the economics and the saving I really was trying to create) I figure this shit has got to come off NOW!! (At this stage I would like to point out that my half drunk female supervision is out of the bathroom saying absolutely nothing and adding to the false sense of security that I was doing OK!! Bullshit!!). Actually I lie she did say something like….. “You have used an entire role of toilet paper….ALARM BELLS TIT ALARM BELLS!!!!

When I eventually came out of the shower I realized that devastation that Hiroshima had actually caused had happened right there in our little abode. OMG!!!!!!!

My skin was stained to absolute shit! What to do, I am an attorney for F*&^CK sakes and have to see clients tomorrow. Out came the brand new Pot Scourer (aka yellow sponge with ROUGH green bit on end). I, after rubbing my very black hands in yet another lapse of consciousness took the bloody thing to my face and ears. Wow what an idiot, I still have the grazes TODAY!!!!!!

Then came the clean and clear of the disaster zone and with that the realization that the entire flat was covered in black shit…..everywhere! (The flat that my reprobate flat mate owns, I hasten to add, which makes it so much worse).

Well, we cleaned what was visible at night and I felt a whole lot better after the unassisted traumatic experience had finally come to an end (whatever).

Then came the morning and with that daylight……..

It went something like this……Tit now sober (thank god) and off to the pub, Arghh I mean work, went to the loo first. This is when she discovered spots on the toilet seat and shouted out at her find. She then went to the dressing table and OMG you guessed it, spots on her lovely cherry wood dressing table too. So now with my final lapse of consciousness I went and found my trusty pot scourer (I wasn’t joking about the grazes) and started with the table. Oh yes I should have worked out if it was capable of taking skin off my face, it too was capable of removing the varnish on a table….and that it did.

Now feeling so guilty I would rather not have woken up that morning at all I sprinted to the bathroom and used my trusty pot scourer on the porcelain toilet seat. Oh but it wasn’t porcelain and the paint came off their too. The guilt I tell you, the guilt…..it has plagued me ever since. (their were two more discoveries which I choose not elaborate on as I have wiped them from my memory, but briefly the white linen and her Hilton Weiner top weren’t able to survive the hairdye Hiroshima L)

In summary;

Cost of new toilet seat which was delivered yesterday………..R160.00

Cost of refurbishing cherry wood dressing table (sand and varnish)……..R1250.00 (Ouch you right)

Deciding not to let the lovely lady at Dave & Johan’s do what she considers her profession……………FUCKEN PRICELESS!!!

I will now sport my silver hair with PRIDE!!!! It’s meant to be there