Blog / Journal Items

Grey hares in my bellfry

Got my hair cut today. I know this doesn't mean much but its a few hours drive to a city hairdresser. It's a treat not to feel like one of the blokes or a young lad at his first job after leaving the local barber. Sitting in the chair wrapped in a black smock I caught a look at myself. When did I get so old? I missed the middle bit where you complain about finding a grey hair ... I have a grey peppered rabbit warren. My hares were not just for Easter.  I didn't want to look at the mirror. Even a bit of lipstick wouldn't help. Perhaps a trowel and some poly filler?... the penny dropped. I realised why some women resort to smothering their faces in bum cream - desperation. The taut and terrific is a big sales pull for the gravity ravished. No, I won't, I can't. The Pharmacist would be mortified and my 'problem' butt would be the talk of the town. So, again, I looked into the mirror of broken dreams. Who was this person and where did she come from? A few of you have been on this journey with me in the past few years. It sucks - life moves on leaving the elasticity of youth behind, replacing it with the crabby crown fallen.

The hairdresser was a pleasant enough girl. She made the 'ooh' and 'ahh' noises in the right places when I explained I wanted my hair to look like a younger looking Fergie with a bit of Bette Middler thrown in (her earlier years, of course). She said, 'So, you like her music?' 'Bette?' 'No, Fergie'...'Oh, I meant Fergie Duchess of York (I guess she still has a title)'. Wrong era. She snipped away pre-occupied. Why do they ask what haircut you want when they have no intention of doing it. What happened to honesty in snipping? She could have said "Sorry love. You are a middle aged cow who will never look like a film star in your wildest dreams... now how about a nice short back and sides like the other lads?"

It must be hard to be pleasant to everyone. I would have loved a chat. Working at home doesn't lend itself to intelligent conversation since my staff are dogs. But she was lost in her own world. Needless to say, my hair got shorter and less feminine. Voila! I emerged from the smock as a young lad from the country - the look I travelled to avoid. Funny old world. When I went home, no one noticed the cut. Even the dogs. It's awful. My belfry's been boyed again.

Somewhere inside there is a young bunny. I know even if no one else does.

Cheers
Grey Red