- * I’m a whole generation older than most of the clients, grrr
- * I’m not ready for a bubble perm and tint just yet
- * I never, ever get the cut I ask for
Yet I was feeling strangely optimistic and full of hope as I tried a new hairdressers. I figured that if they could fit me in straight away, it was meant to be. And they could. I was given a look book, a strong coffee and the latest copy of Vogue. A child (it seemed) sashayed over and picked up my locks, tutted, exchanged glances with the child next to her and just about managed not to roll her eyes. I know, I know, I have let my whole hair-care regime lapse into grunge since being diagnosed with MS. It’s not been that high up on my list of priorities, but that’s all about to change…
The child, who turned out to be a mother-of-two, asked me what look I was aiming for and we discussed a few ideas. I like Keira Knightley’s style in that perfume advert, but then I like a lot of things that are just not going to happen. I was kitted out with a cape, plastic shoulder mat and towel and led over to the sink where my hair was washed, conditioned, massaged and pummelled into submission. Meekly, I followed her back to the chair and read a magazine until she was finished. Couldn’t look. Finally, I had to. Hmm. Ok. It’s kind of short. Oh, that’s a lot of hair on the floor. But I actually like it. It’s swishy!
I paid up and bounced out of the salon, pretending I was attracting admiring glances as I walked back to the car. Back home, I did what every woman does after the hairdressers and raced to the biggest mirror I could find, turning this way and that, mussing it up, mentally working out if I could live with it. I think I can, although my neck’s a bit cold. And I sure don’t look like Keira Knightley.