So much for that fling

One of the wonderful things about growing older is how comfortable you become in your own skin. Well, that’s how it should be anyway. With age comes wisdom, confidence and acceptance, right? Surely that’s the pay-off you’ve earned for wrinkle lines and greying hair. Largely I think I’m there. I long ago stopped beating myself up about things that made me, me. The fact that I have to do pretty much everything in life the hard way like baking my daughter cakes — the bought ones just aren’t the same. I’m also pretty straight. (That’s one person’s “boring”, another’s “dependable”.) Thankfully, for my sanity, with age and experience, I’ve let the straight line wiggle a bit and discovered grey, except in your hair, can be as acceptable as black and white. It’s quite empowering to realise that you don’t have to be good all of the time ... eating a second biscuit if you want it is OK because you exercise and eat healthy most of the time and that leaving the ironing one more day won’t cause the roof to cave in. However, I realised I had perhaps taken the whole self-acceptance thing a little too far about a month ago — and I don’t think it a coincidence that another birthday had ticked over. I started thinking back to how I had reached this point and I believe it was just after I had given birth to my daughter almost five years ago. I had returned to work full time and decided on a divorce. A bit extreme, do you think? Believe me, it wasn’t easy. We’d become soulmates, confidantes, a safe harbour for each other during life’s storms — it had always been a judge-free zone but the relationship was costing me far too much in time, money and effort. So I decided to leave my hairdresser. It was hard but freedom tasted delicious. No more looking at myself in a mirror with tinfoil in my hair, thousands of dollars staying in my pocket and the regaining of hours back into my life.

For four years I’ve coloured my own hair and grew it long convincing myself no one was the wiser. My ego was boosted when a hairdresser giving me a rare trim a few years back commented what a lovely colour it was. However, a couple of months ago I knew I was in trouble. Sloppy attention to detail from a lack of will meant things were sliding, prompting a different hair cutter’s blunt chop at my handiwork to slice through my vanity. So with endless unwanted New Year’s resolutions flying thick and fast I jumped back into marriage during my recent holiday. It was lovely and our vows were meaningful.

“We do promise to be faithful and committed while respecting each other’s goals.” Surely there’s nothing wrong with a little help when it comes to selfacceptance — and achieving great hair without the grey.

WITH DEVIL-MAY-CARE ABANDON I CUT MY HAIRDRESSER LOOSE AND DECIDED ON THE D-I-Y PATH TO SELF-COLOURATION TO ENJOY THE SAVINGS IN MONEY AND TIME. IMAGINE MY HORROR WHEN A TRIM REVEALED ONE SHADE OF GREY TOO MANY.