They say that in face-to-face conversation you should focus directly to the person opposite and speak directly into their eyes. Perhaps it’s just good manners or just something to focus on when the conversation gets a little too boring. The thing is, my grey hairs that seem to be sprouting typically at the front of my hairline are a major distraction to all. In fact, friends, colleagues even the checkout girl at my local Tesco, glare a second too long at the top of my head for me to think it was just a coincidence. They can deny it till they’re blue in the face and pretend they hadn’t noticed until I point the little buggers out myself. But it’s true, my dark locks are turning grey, I like to call it silver, sounds far more glamorous.
The thing is I don’t have the time nor the money to sit in a hairdresser for three hours to get my hair coloured. Those good old days are long gone. I used to love nothing more than sitting undisturbed flicking through glossy magazines and eavesdropping on the conversation beside me while dunking my mini wafer into my skinny latte. These days, I not only have to think of booking an appointment way in advance to get a convenient slot but also a babysitter too and then there’s the travelling time to consider and the added Kerastase ritual treatment of course.
However, thanks to the wonderful and talented bods at Headmasters, they’ve cottoned on to the fact that Sunday opening is just as essential as every other day of the week, so there’s no babysitter costs and no sense of guilt for the time out, just a warm feeling that my husband is having a taste of what it’s like to look after the kids single-handedly.
So really, things are not so grey after all.
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