Little Lisa

My hairdresser Lisa has left me looking very gamine and feeling flighty. The thirty eight year old Essex girl is a whizz with scissors and spray gun. I love her.
As the hair fell we chatted like a couple of parrots and when, after thirty minutes of snipping, she whipped the gown away from my shoulders, I put my specs back on and gasped! Losing just a couple of inches has made such a fabulous difference.
"You can wear your hair very short because you're elf like" Lisa said flicking my ends
"What?" I said, smiling like an idiot totally unable and unwilling to take my eyes away from the mirror
"Elf like, your face is elf like" she repeated.
"Whatever you say darling" I squealed
And so after dropping her a few quid she fled into the night to work her magic on another old girl's head.
And that's what a good hairdresser does. She works magic. Bless Little Lisa.