Hair transplants and knocking shops….

And so, finally, he’s back!

My dear friend Julian has been to-ing and fro-ing from his Mum’s house for the last month, because his Aunt is very ill.  So I haven’t seen very much of him for a while.

But yesterday, his message pinged through asking if I was free for a coffee at 11am!  He appeared at the door looking slightly odd, before he explained that he had finally done it… He’s decided to have a hair transplant. 

Now I’ll be honest, there was a little bit of me that wanted to laugh.  Not because of his decision, but mostly because Julian is fair, and they had painted a hairline onto his head with some strange dark substance, which, to be honest, looked a bit like boot polish.  And considering his mirth at discovering me in the garden a couple of weeks ago, with my arm up to the shoulder down a blocked drain, it’s definitely my turn to have a giggle!

It’s easy for us girls to laugh about something that does not often affect our gender – but for men it is a big issue.  I know so many men who are terrified of loosing their hair.  If he’s prepared to stump up the cost and go through the pain of the procedure, why shouldn’t he?  You go for it J!!!

Well, having explained the whole ‘hair transplant’ situation, J then had me in stitches recounting what had happened to his mother last week. 

Julian’s mother owns a beauty salon.  Business has been very quiet recently, so when she received an unusual request, she said ‘yes’ when on another occasion, she might have declined.

The caller was a man.  He was very concerned about ‘discretion’.  He wanted to be sure that the ‘treatment’ he required could be done in a private room.  J’s mother assured him that he would of course have a private room and that they would be discreet. 

It transpires that the caller wanted to have full makeup applied. 

Now I’m no prude.  I understand that people sometimes want to do these sort of things.  And if they want to do it at home, or somewhere that caters specifically for this type of thing, then I don’t see that it is anyone else’s business.  But J’s mother runs a beauty salon – and if I’d been her, I’d have been very concerned. 

But J’s mother is a very broadminded woman with a gay son – so she was un-phased and booked him in.

On the day itself, a tall, fat, bald man turned up, with a bag containing a dress and shoes.  Having been shown into the private treatment room by one of J’s mum’s employees (Emma) he changed into his dress and Emma helped him style his wig.

With wig and dress in place, Emma went on to apply false eyelashes and full makeup.  So far so good…  but of course, this was the point at which it all started to get a bit… well… ‘dodgy’. 

It has to be noted that Emma is a very nice girl, but she sure ain’t the sharpest tool in the box!

 The next request was that Emma take a photo of him on a rather old, battered looking mobile phone.  But before she took the picture he asked whether she would mind just tying his hands to the back of the chair! 

Without batting an eyelid, Emma cheerily did exactly what he asked and took the photo. 

Now, maybe it’s just me, but on hearing this story, I couldn’t help but think it was a bit ‘odd’ that a man who is so concerned about ‘discretion’ – ie, not getting found out, should want photographic evidence!  But I digress…

Photo taken, he then requested that he be left alone, tied to the chair, for an hour.

It just happened that J’s mother was busy with another client at this point, oblivious to what was going on, as Emma cheerily obliged and left the man on his own.

Finally, the ‘session’ was over, the man was untied, and Emma took off all his makeup and led him to the till to pay.

It was at this point that J’s mother appeared.  The man was £50 short.  He refused to pay anything other than cash – as his wife would see any payments on his bank cards.  After a heated debate, J’s mother realised that her options were simple:  call the police, or tell him to leave and never come back again!

She decided on the latter and watched in bemusement as he hurriedly drove off in an expensive car, dress and shoes on the seat next to him.  

The prospect of what might have happened if she’d called the police was only just beginning to sink in.  Imagine trying to explain to the police what had just happened at a respectable beauty salon!  Quite apart from having to convince them that you’re not running a ‘knocking shop’, imagine if the local press got hold of the story.  It could have ruined her business and reputation.

As J and I recovered from fits of laughter at the whole incident, J patted the new stubble growing back on his head.  And with a thoughtful look he said:

“I know people think gay men do weird things, and I know I look like I’ve got boot polish on my head, but some married men do the strangest things.”

Fair point.