I had allowed my locks to dull, to fade; incipient greys and browns and hen’s plumages were beginning to take over. The greyness in parts of my life, the ongoing (if intermittent) sense of hopelessness and misery, made me feel that there was no point in trying to be vibrant, in fighting the gloom, in bringing my inner red-head to the surface once more.
On Monday, I first experienced, and then wrote about, Duck with a Dick* – and, as well as cheering me up, it made others laugh. This took the edge off things, thawed some of the ice I had allowed to form over my heart.
Yesterday, determined to put up a good showing in the next few skirmishes of life, I trotted off to the hairdresser’s in the village. Actually, ‘trotted’ is more in the nature of poetic licence: The sky was seriously incontinent and, despite the short distance, I am ashamed to say I drove.
My hair, I will confess, is my one small ‘sin’ of vanity – and I am not, in the normal run of things, a vain woman!
The lady who does the Alienora barnet was in adventurous, nay festive, mode – and I was completely up for guinea-pig-hood. She went into her magic room and prepared the Yuletide mixture. The resulting glop, when she showed it to me, was the colour of arousal, of bright Candy Floss, of the ‘skin’ supporting dentures: Eye-wrenching doesn’t begin to describe it!
I was chuffed to pieces and laughed loudly, saying, ‘Bloody hell! I shall be stopping traffic with this little lot!’
On it went – and, job done, I settled back with a cup of tea and a selection of Women’s magazines (always useful for gossip at one remove!).
The pinger went. I shut the metaphorical door on the sex lives of the good, the bad, the tedious and the hideous – and submitted myself docilely to the Sink Ritual. Water running clean, eventually, I stood up and looked in the mirror.
‘Jeez!’ I ejaculated (there are some occasions when no other word will do!). ‘I LOVE it!’
A brief trim and comb through with the mysterious follicular unguents which keep it all flowing and shining later, I felt the dryer parting my tresses and warming them up. Then I was oven-ready, as you might say – and I just did!
I drove home smiling – and, I confess, looking at myself in the mirror from time to time. Naughty but nice, if you get my drift.
I am delighted with the shade: It catches the light and is orange, pink, deep red, shining with little ruby jewels. But, more to the point, the colour of my hair reflects my Ali spirit – and the latter has taken a battering recently. It was lovely, therefore, to look in the mirror at home and luxuriate in the warmth and beauty of the reds – and to feel a little of the energy that is an integral part of who I am creeping back.
*See yesterday’s post, if you haven’t already…