HAIRCUT! -- Toulon, France

I've been hankering to get a haircut since I arrived at Moyleabbey in August and woke up every morning with my hair looking like this: 

Yes. This is August. I persevered with my perpetual bad hair (as did everyone around me) until February. This is evidence of the strength of character of the people with whom I've been staying.

I woke up the morning of my haircut (it was a surprise, so my hair was still quite unaware of its impending doom), looking like this:

I don't take a picture of my hair every morning, I swear. I just thought it was particularly fluffy and lion-like that morning.

Caroline told me that she was taking Bibou to get his hair cut, and asked if I'd like to come. Witnessing children get their hair chopped off is always enjoyable, and as I'd never been inside a french coiffure before, I naturally leapt at the opportunity. Once we'd parked the car and Caroline had secured an appointment, she informed me that the Pernots was treating me to a haircut of my very own. I was elated, ecstatic, thrilled. The feeling of satisfaction after months of yearning rivaled buying warm boots in Ireland after experiencing minor frostbite. However, I hadn't thoroughly thought through what I wanted to do with my outrageous mane -- just that it had to go. Luckily, Aurelie had given me a magazine with Emma Watson's picture on the cover, and although I find dear Emma a rather vapid actress, I do approve of her hair. So Caroline looked up a picture of the Harry Potter star on her iPhone, and I said, "This with sideburns, please." 

What followed was the most professional, pleasant haircut I've ever had. It was also the quietest haircut I've ever had. You know how when you visit a dentist or a hairdresser, you somehow feel obliged to carry on trivial conversation? As the hairdresser spoke very little English and I still speak very little French (despite my best efforts), neither of us felt any such obligation to get to know each other in the typical superficial salon manner. She was very nice and seemed to enjoy cutting my hair, and I silently enjoyed watching my stringy locks float to the floor. If you have the opportunity to get your hair cut in France, I highly recommend you take it. 

With our new haircuts. We think we look grand. 

To complete the makeover, Caroline taught me how to use makeup. Properly. Not the haphazard, shoddy attempts I made in university that ended up making me look like the homeschool version of Barbie Doll.

I realize that I've just dedicated an entire post to my hair, and that I may hence be perceived as shallow and vain, but I have been wanting a haircut for a VERY long time. It's fantastic to finally have one. A big, happy thanks to Caroline and Jerome!