“No, I did not say chop of eight inches. I said, trim the ends!”

In fact, given that I wear my hair long, I pretty much cut it myself. Any mistakes just get bundled back in a ponytail. 

But I used to be reliant on hairdressers. It was brilliant when they were a friend of a friend or you’d been going to the same salon for years. It was all so relaxing. Some easy gossip, a relaxing sense that they knew what to do with you hair better than you, time out.

But remember the horrors of a new hairdresser? The anxious scrutiny of every action in the mirror, while striving for the appearance of relaxed chattiness.

So I think this Improbability Wednesday I’ll advocate for a robot hairdresser. Something like Edward Scissorhands, but automated. It measures your face and head shape visually and cuts the perfect hair style. No fuss, no conversation, and you don’t even have to leave home.

Of course, I’m not sure what I’d do for the gossip part of the traditional haircut. Maybe I could Twitter while the robot hairdresser clipped?