The Customer is (not) King

Hedda had 'afternoon religion' today, which means the poor thing has to rush home for lunch, then rush back again for an extra, fortnightly religion lesson, presumably to boost what they don't learn in their three hours a day at school. So Titus and I went to the nearest shopping metropolis to run a few errands.

Firstly we had to go to the chemist, where two weeks ago I had ordered a product for the next day but forgot to pick it up. I explained this to the disapproving-looking pharmacist. Well, why didn't you come the day after, she asked, her lips practically disappearing into a single, flat line. I stuttered out an excuse (the worst ever, that I'd had to leave the country in a hurry) and apologised, all the time thinking, why? But she made me feel so guilty. You're in luck, she then said grudgingly, it's still here. That might not happen next time though. Too right, grumpy chemist lady! I shall never darken your already gloomy doors again! A now familiar scenario ensued - me sweeping up my wares, or ware in this case, and leaving the shop with a forced air of jollity, which was mainly to play down the situation for the ear-wigging pensioners waiting their turn.

Then we went to find a hairdresser for Titus. He has been becoming ever more lion-like, a bit like the teenage Simba. We thought we had talked him into growing it, which admittedly was a mother-driven initiative in the absence of any appropriate barber in the area. A week ago though, I'd spied this relatively harmless looking salon, conveniently next to the now-to-be-boycotted chemist. However, it was the kind of place where you can't see much from the outside, and once you are in, you have to be extremely brave to turn and walk out again if you don't like what you see. A balding man lounging on a purple sofa leapt up as we entered. Which of you is requiring my services, he asked brightly. I resisted giving him a death stare (I had mine done less than a week ago) and pointed to Simba/Titus.

Despite the smoky atmosphere and the fact that the hairdresser kept up a monologue the whole time about his rather questionable motives for entering his profession, Titus looked grand by the time he'd finished. A whole new boy, I said. Titus said gravely, that hairdresser is now my favourite ever Mummy - you can tell he is so much better trained than his colleagues in Belgium!

I had to promise him we'd return before Christmas 'to make sure the man gets money to buy presents for his children' - that's my philanthropic son....