I don't think I've ever been much of a girly girl. I know this probably sounds like a strange thing to say, coming from someone who loves pinks and pastels, sequins, kitsch and bows at every opportunity. But when it comes to the finer details, the haircuts, nail polish and eyebrows, etc etc, which so many girls seem to spend forever on, I tend to give it a miss. I don't know what to do with most of the contents of a make up bag. Literally. No. Idea.
I couldn't tell you the last time I had my hair cut...until last week. Professionally, I mean, rather than just hacking away at the wonky split ends or plucking out the grey ones with a pair of tweezers (I know, I know, you're not supposed to do that. Kill me.)
But, I'd been thinking for a while that I wanted a fringe again. It's been years and years since I had one, but I didn't hate it and it's cheaper than Botox, and seemed as good a way as any to hide my horrid forehead, which frankly seems to be a mixture of age lines and ridiculous acne, all of the time. Ugh.
So, leaving things right until the last minute, as per, I frantically telephoned around a bundle of local hair salons. One of them could fit me in that day and I turned up looking windswept and embarrassed that I'm hopeless at things like this and never know what to ask for, and get all stressed out at being asked to look at myself in the mirror etc.
But, my hairdresser was lovely, and listened to me and reassured me that she would cut off as little of the length as possible (I *like* my long hair and kinda want to keep it.) And she cut me in a fringe and shaped my hair around my face, and showed me it and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw a little bit less. So that's a start. And that's the story of my new hair.