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Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Silver Fox

Let's be clear. I'm not talking about George Clooney.
I'm talking about me. 35 year old mother of 2. Lover of 1.
No longer can I masquerade as brunette. I was a blond child, almost Aryan, which eventually settled into a dirty, mousey, brown.
I started to colour my hair at about 15, home jobs done by friends, everything from platinum blonde, to blue, to my personal worst favourite, the brown with blonde streaks.
That's where you placed a tight rubber cap over your head & used some sort of crochet hook to pull strands of hair through small holes & paint them a different colour. It really hurt.
For many years now I've enjoyed the hair salon. I love the ones that offer you coffee or tea, who massage your head thoroughly and - of course - have a wide range of magazines for my perusal.
Tomorrow  I enter such a place, to begin again.
My hair is grey. I can't think of any better way to state such a humbling truth. My regrowth speaks only truth. I am no longer producing pigment in my hair follicles. I dare not check my pubes.
So I am becoming a silver fox. Something of a Targaeryn I hope. Not too white, a sort of silver, not grey. My eyebrows are dark, ready for the change.
It feels like a rite of passage I'm experiencing about 20 years too early. That excites me, more than disappoints, because it means I'm maturing. I'm like the silver back of my tribe, on my head.
My brothers are both grey of hair. Dad was too. Good people. Handsome.
I'm ready to do this. No more colours. Just the silver fox. Foxy lady. From here on in. There is no going back from this. Is there?

1 comment:

  1. Its the damned hair on my chin that is stubbornly prevalent and is bloody white and thick like nylon thread! Could cope with my pubes and can dye my head hair but my chin defeats me and makes me feel like I should be in a booth at the funfair! F**kin hormones!

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