grey hair

Today I spent twenty quid on hair products.

Most of you may know that I am not a particularly ‘girly’ person. And so may be a little surprised.

Having thought about it you may not know that I am not very ‘girly’ but if you have ever seen me walking to school, or football training or round the local supermarket with wet hair you will have gleaned that I am not the sort to spend long on my coiffure.

And those that know me not at all will just have to take my word for it. My hairdryer was plugged in when I came up to bed and I was momentarily confused until I remembered Middlest had washed his hair earlier and used it to fashion his quiff…..I never use it. Except to dry off sports kit which is required urgently.

My only extravagance, beauty wise, is a cut and blow dry about six weekly. With my lovely hairdresser whom I have been seeing this regularly for almost exactly 13 years.

She knows me. Well. She has over the years developed a hairstyle for me which merely requires me to get up and pull a brush through. She kindly says that I need such a style because I am so busy with my three kids, all of whose hair she also cuts, rather than because I am a slob. And care nothing for my ‘presentation’. Or she may know I am a slob but is too tactful to say anything.

My hairdresser is the Queen of Tact.

So today when she tentatively raised the issue of the possibility of colour bathing my hair to avoid people remembering me with too much grey I had to listen.

Up until this visit she has been saying that I was still able to get away with it. Not today. Maybe the long summer holidays have accelerated the process.

I floated the idea of just letting it go grey but she believes me too young for this. I love her for that. I don’t care that the colour bathing will probably do her bank balance no harm and just want to believe….

But apparently before I can have the aforementioned colour bath, which sounds lovely, like a relaxing spa treatment, but without the tacky music, I need to stop using my current shampoo. Which is evidently the devil in detergent form. If cheap.

And so I spent that crisp twenty.

Tactful and canny. So she is.