The Polish Haircut

Had to get my hair cut today. Hadn't gotten my hair cut yet here, because well, I had no idea where to go -- there are a bunch of places within walking distance of me -- and I knew it was going to be expensive.
And it's not easy finding a new hairdresser.
I loved my old hairdresser in the States -- a lovely Vietnamese woman who became my friend. We told each other a lot about our lives; we were the same age, both mothers of two adult children -- we had a lot in common actually. I went to her for years.
Back to my hair. Which wasn't looking very good at all.
I went out to run some errands and noticed that the hairdressing salon closest to my house had an offer on -- £5 off a woman's hair cut and blow dry. So I went in and asked the guy who owned it, a paunchy Middle Eastern guy, how much for a cut and dry.
£30. Which didn't sound that bad. A lot cheaper than other places I had asked.
I looked at the tall blonde woman who he motioned to, who would be cutting my hair. She smiled at me, holding her scissors. I told him I'd come back after my errands.
As I walked up the high street, I worried about whether I would be sacrificing my hair at the altar of my cheapness -- i.e. get a shitty haircut just to save a few quid. (also known as British pounds). Right before I go to my job again.
Screw it, I'll tell them I just want a trim, less than an inch taken off, same cut.
How bad can it be?
Went in later.
Hairdresser didn't speak a lot of English, but was sweet.
Only been here from Poland about four years. Only been at the salon a few weeks. Used to work at another place.
Gave me a really nice hair-cut, one of those you know you've just gotten.
I told her I had been scared.
She laughed.