Aargh! There’s hair everywhere! I’ve just moved in with my girlfriend and her dog, and it’s taking a bit of adjusting to. The Labrador hair I was ready for, but the human hair in the plughole has been a… surprise. It’s partly because I’ve always had very short hair, but I’m starting to suspect that it’s been the norm for most of the long-haired people in my life to clean up their stray strands.
Tina, on the other hand, seems oblivious to this notion. Should I tell her? From what the internet tells me, it’s normal for hair to continually be shedding, but that doesn’t mean she has to leave hers all over the bathroom sink, twined around the taps and snaking into the soap dish. How is she not aware of it?
She does have beautiful hair; I’ll give her that. It’s dyed green at the moment, which looks striking on her head, but lends it the rogue strands the appearance of an algae-like alien tentacle emerging from the plumbing. I need to think of a way to tell her she needs to clean up her act without making her feel criticised. What to do?
I could book her in with one of those upmarket South Melbourne hair stylists she seems to love so much, and have them somehow sneak it into the conversation. Or I could get her some expensive, organic shampoo and conditioner, gift wrapped and tied with a bow made of her plughole hair. Where’s the nearest Aveda salon and stockist?
Na, that’s not going to work. I’ll just have to tell her straight up. “Honey,” I’ll say. “Do you realise that your hair looks like a swamp monster when it falls out and collects in clumps around the bathroom?” I suppose I could word it more diplomatically. On the other hand, that’s the truth of the matter, and I’m a believer in not beating around the clump of hair – especially when it’s starting to wind its way around my toothbrush.