Chef VUUL Babette Wieringa describes in her weekly column what strikes her.
So, I miss Marco. I could always look forward to our moments together. Especially if we hadn‘t seen each other for too long, I realized how important this man is in my life. Now Marco sits on a mountain in Italy with his husband in their holiday home. Every day I am confronted with Instagram movies where the two walk in the snow, cook, dance, drink wine, Netflixen and above all enjoy. Rub it in, Marco. In that hair of mine, now screaming for your attention.
Of course, I also know there’s nothing you‘d like more than tossing the hairstyles of women like me all day long. And that you’ve turned the need into a virtue. You‘re right, it’s bad enough what happens to you and your colleagues. All those neglected sections won‘t do you any good either.
I made another attempt to do something about that and I bought hairdressing scissors. My experiment started with the hair of my roommates. Who now strikingly often wear a hat, not because they are cold.
And then our white self-leveling floor, which is no longer to be seen since I started playing caper. Because that gray runway on my head really couldn’t do it anymore, I used a pack of hair dye like that. Everything went well, the paint slipped my hair. Apple, egg, I thought. Until my hair somehow turned red, instead of the maroon that promised the package. And, perhaps worse, that beautiful floor was suddenly full of indelible red dots and spots. Apparently, a little splattered.
Every one‘s profession, I know. But I have good hope. This week it was announced that the dogcapers are allowed back to open for emergencies. Because dogs with little vision and so many tangles that they suffer from it. I get it. We shouldn’t have that. Essential haircuts, so.
That‘s exactly why I hope it won’t be long before we see each other again. In your barberchair.