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I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused in the process of applying my mascara. I blinked for a moment, not the blink of irritation at the brush thickly coating my eyelashes with goop but with a blink of sudden understanding and enlightenment.  I studied  my face. Patiently applied foundation gave a flawless complexion. Carefully contrived lips of liner and colour.   Smoky eyes created by combining a liner with three different shades of shadow.  Artfully bleached hair carefully blow-dried then straightened to glossy silkiness hanging to my shoulders.   All in all the perfect appearance. A visage straight from a glossy magazine yet why did I suddenly feel such a turmoil, such disquiet?  I tucked my hair back behind my left ear and checked my efforts of the previous hour. What was I doing? Why was I struggling each day spending my time trying to conform to the stereotype forced on young women today?  Why was I so fixated on keeping up with fashions and being as attractive as possible?  Of course it was important to be well presented. Important for me to show that I did care about my appearance and took time to maintain it. Did that mean I had to strive to be fashionable and fight to proclaim my attractiveness? Two young undergraduates at the college where I had obtained a post as senior librarian (this is a blatant grateful homage for the Christine and Susan stories)  had arrived at the library sporting short curly hairdos and clothes which could easily be called old fashioned and dowdy. Strangely however I had not seen them as frumpy but instead as leaders who had chosen to abandon the pursuit of power and control and instead adopted a humbler and less pressured existence. I had found the idea intriguing and attractive. In a moment of enlightenment I came to the realisation that the constant pursuit of fashion was not what I wanted nor needed.  I needed to present a more sedate appearance – to show more humility and with growing strength of will that is precisely what I resolved to do.

I reached for a bottle of makeup remover and poured a little onto a cotton pad.  I rubbed it across my eye, initially smearing the makeup then with a little work removing it completely.  I compared my cleaned eye with my made up one.  I smiled to myself then took up pad and lotion to clean the second eye.  I began to work quickly now, almost feverishly, pouring, dabbing, rubbing, scrubbing until at last I looked into the mirror at a new reflection.  This one simply sported clean shining skin – no artifice or conceit just simple and humble.

I picked up my hairbrush and began to run it through my hair.  It felt very smooth and silky, the product of shampoo and conditioner plus serum, straightening lotion and the heat from the ceramic plates of my straighteners. Even though regular bleaching should have made my honey coloured locks dry it felt wonderfully soft – too soft to my new mindset.  I stared in despair at my tresses. I had to do something about them.  I turned away from the mirror and walked over to my wardrobe. I ignored all of my newest purchases and instead pulled a suitcase down from the top.  It contained clothes I hadn’t worn for some years.  I rummaged around for a few moments and pulled out a knee length black skirt and a plain pastel blue blouse. I pulled them on and checked my reflection.  Unhappy still I removed the blouse and my bra, replacing the balconet with a plainer bra again from the suitcase. Putting on a pair of almost flat court shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe I judged my appearance critically once more and smiled to myself at the much plainer and humbler appearance I now presented.

I picked up my handbag and frowned at the designer logo worked as a motif into the buckle.  A return to the suitcase found a perfectly serviceably but much plainer bag into which I transferred my purse and phone.  I looked at the assorted cosmetics in my normal bag and decided not to move them over instead slipping a tube of simple lip salve in.  A few other essentials (tissues etc) followed and I slipped on a plainly cut black jacket before walking down stairs.

My mum was sitting at the breakfast table.  She looked up at me and smiled. “You look nice today” she said. I returned the smile gratefully.  I had come home to look after her after she had been taken ill.  I had recently split from my boyfriend who had constantly been on at me to be glam and sexy, “looking for a trophy wife” my mum called it.  I was taking stock of my life and had returned home and found a new job in my home town. Now I was looking to make a new start and it had led me to this moment.  I looked at my mum. In her early sixties she had had me late in life.  She had doted on my dad who had died eight years ago.  They had been blissfully happy together.  Throughout my life I had only ever known my mum to dress plainly but well. She wore her hair in a shortish permed style, set weekly at the salon. Her hair was a light auburn (it seemed to have been getting lighter over the last few years) and she had it cut short exposing her ears and quite tight in at the nape.

After breakfast I told my mum I was going out shopping for some new clothes. She told me to enjoy myself and said “if what you are wearing is any indication of the new things you are looking for I am sure you will look lovely when you get back.” With this endorsement I left the house.

I walked along the road feeling strangely liberated and freed by my decision to be more subdued in my appearance.  Whereas I might have been concerned that I would feel self conscious and unsteady I in fact felt empowered and relaxed.  I walked along the street smiling to myself.  The wind caught my hair causing it to whip around my face. I frowned.  I needed to do something about this to make my transformation complete.

I approached the high street and turned to walk along it. I watched people as they walked past me going the other way. None of them looked twice at me. Whereas normally I might expect men to double take and scrutinise my looks I found the blank expressions as they ignored the new plainer me to be strangely exhilarating and relaxing.  I walked past a hair salon and stroked my hair back from my face. “I must make the final change” I thought to myself and walked up to the door. I paused and looked at the pictures in the window.  The models all sported brightly coloured, glossy locks. The GHD logo was prominently displayed.  This was not the sort of place which could complete my change to a new humbler woman.  I turned away and continued to walk along the street.  As I approached a corner an elderly lady walked around it almost bumping into me.  The scents of hair products hung about her and as I apologised for nearly colliding with her (even though it had been her fault) I noted she had obviously just had her hair sculpted into a short curly hairdo.  She smiled at me and thanked me for being polite then continued on her way. On impulse I turned down the street she had exited and walked along seeing if I could spot the salon she had just visited.

I was rewarded with the sight of a very traditional salon.  It was small and a little run down with white lace curtains covering the window. I took a deep breath and walked up to the door – even from a few yards away I could smell hair products and lotions. With a slightly trembling hand I grasped the handle and turned it. I pushed open the door to be met by the whirr of dryers. I stepped in. A lady looked up from the desk and smiled at me. She looked to be in her fifties with dark hair (too dark really for her complexion and probably the result of a tint) in a short curly bouffant style. “Can I help you dear?” she asked as she put down the pen she had been writing with.

“Erm, yes, erm I hope so. I would like my hair doing.” She looked at me and a frown flitted across her face. “Well you are a lot younger than my usual clients; don’t you want to go to one of the more modern salons in the high street? I do traditional hairdressing here.” My mouth was suddenly dry with nerves yet even so I was able to stammer. “Erm well I would like a more traditional style please.” Her smile returned at this.

“No I mean we do a lot of perms, shampoo and sets, that sort of thing.” Even so she was obviously scrutinising my appearance and looking carefully at my shoulder length locks. I summoned my resolve. “I would like a much more traditional style please.” I managed to force out. “I want my hair cutting and a shampoo and set would be lovely.”   She tried one last time to dissuade me.

“I am happy to do your hair for you young lady but you must realise you will be leaving here looking very different indeed. I won’t let you walk out of here with long hair; it will be nice neat curls for you.” There was almost an implied threat in her phrasing but I had come this far and couldn’t back out now no matter how nervous I suddenly felt.  I looked her directly in the eye. “Please would you give me your most traditional and conservative style. I want a total change.” She wasted no time in stepping around the desk and approaching me, her hands held out. “Well in that case give me your jacket and let’s get started. I love having a fresh head of hair to work on.”

I had soon swapped my jacket for a wrapover gown and was led to a chair in front of an oval mirror.  I sat down and the hairdresser draped a nylon cape over me before she began to run a brush through my hair. “My name is Katherine” she said as she brushed drawing my hair back into a ponytail in her left hand. “I’m Karen” I replied with a timid smile.

“Right then Karen. You want my most traditional style do you?” There was a hint of menace in this phrase and I suddenly felt afraid of what I had committed to. I didn’t answer but this made no difference to Katherine as she studied my hair. “You bleach your hair don’t you?” That much was obvious. “I think we need to sort the colour if you are to fit in with my ladies.”  I looked at my honey blonde locks and summoned up the last reserves of determination. “Erm what about a brown dye to go back to my normal brunette?”  Katherine looked aghast.

“Oh no, I can’t do that.  If I tried to put a brunette tint over your bleached locks you will end up green.  The reds are the last colours to be stripped and we need to put them back first.” She studied and thought for a moment. Then she smiled. “I know let’s take it the other way…” What did she mean the “other way”? She leant forwards and picked up the scissors.  I stared in terror as they hovered near my nape. With a sawing action she chopped through the ponytail she was gripping in her hand, the scissors close to my nape. With a grunt of triumph she pulled it free and my hair fell around my face in a ragged bob shape. I simply stared wide eyed into the mirror. What had I done? She laid the ponytail on the counter in front of me. “No point in bleaching hair that is going to be chopped off is there?” she said as she moved to the side.  She lifted the hair with her comb then schnick she chopped through it.  She worked quickly lifting and chopping and I watched as silky tresses cascaded down the cape. She seemed to work indiscriminately lifting sections with the comb, holding them out from my head then snipping through them. I sat in dumbstruck silence as my hair was chopped and chopped, falling away to make its journey to the salon floor by sliding down the silky cape. Pretty soon she was finished and she popped the scissors back on the counter. She picked up a soft brush and swept the hair off my shoulders. I looked at a reflection I hardly recognised with roughly cut hair just covering my ears. “There we go; I did tell you that if you wanted your hair doing here you would not be walking out with long hair.”   She walked away for a moment leaving me to scrutinise my hacked at locks. What had I done? Why had I taken this step? Even so I found myself with fear that changed as I stared into excitement and anticipation.

Katherine returned with a plastic bowl.  It contained a purplish looking paste.  She put it down on the counter and took time to arrange a heavy plastic cape on my shoulders. She then took up the bowl and stirred at it for a moment with a brush.  She began at my forehead using the brush to part my hair then apply the paste to my head.  It made my scalp tingle a little; this was obviously a strong chemical.  No words passed between us as she worked. I simply watched as she carefully and methodically pasted my hair with the goo.  It only took about five minutes for her to coat my tresses and she used the brush to coax all of my hair up on top of my head in some form of weird and grotesque slicked look.  Even as I watched the paste changed colour from purple to a whitish shade. At last I managed to summon enough resolve to speak. “Erm what colour is that?” my nerves were obvious by the tremor in my voice. “Oh it’s not a tint its peroxide – bleach.” I stared at her puzzled. What did she mean bleach? My hair was already bleached blonde.  She answered my internal question. “I’m lifting your hair even more, taking you to platinum.  She wiped around my hairline with a tissue then lifted a polythene cap over my hair. “I thought about your colour and realised that many of my ladies have white hair. I couldn’t really dye you back to brunette without a lot of messing around but I could go the other way and take you to white so I am using peroxide to strip the last of the colour and leave you with lovely white hair.” I stared into the mirror in horror. White hair? There is no way I would have asked for that but the bleach was on, what could I do? Besides, my resolution to be more humble in my presentation meant I really ought to comply with the wishes of senior ladies like Katherine.  So decided I simply sat and stared at my hair as it went lighter and lighter under the cream and the cap.

Katherine left me to wash up the bowl and left me to my musing. I sat and thought about the decisions I had made this morning. I wondered if I had made the right decision.  Whether right or wrong I resolved that it was one I was going to go through with.  Katherine returned with some magazines and offered me a drink which she then hurried off to make. I tried to lose my misgivings in the pages of the magazine.

Twenty minutes later Katherine leaned me back into the sink and shampooed my hair.  She was firm and no nonsense with the shampoo. This was no tender massage but simply a matter of fact process.  As I was still leaning back she snipped the nozzle from a bottle and began to run this through my hair too.  Once she had done this she used a wide toothed comb to distribute the conditioner through my tresses and I was then allowed to relax for a few minutes.

After a thorough rinsing I was returned to the mirror with my hair swathed in a towel. As I walked to the chair I saw my chopped tresses still around it on the floor. It was with mixed feelings that I sat down but then I eagerly waited for the first look at my new colour. “Are you ready for this Karen?” she asked as she gripped the towel with both hands. I smiled and nodded as with a flourish she pulled the towel away.

I gasped out loud and she grinned. My hair was blue! Not Marge Simpson in your face blue but a sort of translucent, shining silvery blue. I stared in total disbelief. “How do you like it?” she asked as she began to run a wide toothed comb through it. “Erm it’s er very different” I managed to splutter. “I’ve given you a classic blue rinse” she said as she swapped the wide toothed comb for a smaller one and began to section my hair. “You really can’t get any more traditional than that although we could have gone for lilac or pink, perhaps you might want to try one of them next time.” She picked up her scissors and they drew close to the prepared section she was holding outstretched from the top of my head.  Schnick. The scissors closed and a three inch long section was released, the severed three inches of blued hair falling onto the cape. She combed up the next tress. “Of course it is only a temporary rinse designed to tone in on white hair.” Schnick, another lock was chopped. “It will rinse out so we can refresh it next week.” Schnick, schnick, lock after lock was chopped and blue tresses fell onto the cape and thence to the floor. My hair was growing ever shorter, nowhere was it longer than about three inches. You will be back next week for a set won’t you; I like my ladies to have their hair set regularly? She set down the scissors and I was left looking at my new short blue hair. I would never have envisaged a change quite like this. Katherine scooped a handful of gel from a jar and began to rub it into my hair. It had a very distinct aroma. She used her comb to ensure it was fully distributed through my coloured and cropped tresses.  Next she pulled a roller from a trolley and carefully wound it into my fringe. I looked at it sitting there imprisoning my hair yet at the same time gripped and held by my hair. An odd paradox. She worked quickly winding in pink and yellow rollers contrasting with the blue hair which oddly did not seem garish or out of place but strangely right in this setting.  She finished at my nape. No need for pin curls, she had expertly cut my hair so every single strand could be wound onto a roller, or so it seemed.  Once all of the rollers were in place she took up a large hairnet which she carefully lowered over them, drawing it in at my nape then tying it carefully.

The door to the salon opened and I could see in the mirror as an elderly lady walked in. Katherine looked over her shoulder. “Be with you in a moment Rita, just getting Karen under the dryer.” Katherine removed the towel from my shoulders then the cape and invited me to stand. I followed her over to the dryers by the wall. It felt very odd, so different to my normal salon experience. I had deliberately dressed down and over my blouse and skirt I had a dingy gown. My hair was clustered in rollers under a tightly tied net and I was taking a seat under an old fashioned hood dryer in a slightly tired traditional hairdressers. I looked at the floor around the chair I had vacated. It was covered with blonde hair and smaller lengths of blue hair on top.  I settled into the seat and Katherine lowered the visor and set the machine whirring. Warm air seemed to flow over me boosting the scents of the chemicals that had been used on my locks. The noise of the motor also made it impossible for me to hear what was going on as “Rita” was gowned and led straight to the sinks.  Rita immediately began to wash her hair and I relaxed under the dryer returning to the magazines.

Once the lady’s hair was washed I could see as Katherine reached for a bottle from an array above the sink. With a start I realised these were the colour rinses. Katherine proceeded to run the rinse through the client’s hair then allowed her to lie back as it worked.  When she sat up she too was sporting blue tresses similar to mine. It seemed Katherine was having a “blue day”. She led the client over to the chair which minutes before I had been sitting in. She waited patiently, her head swathed in a towel whilst Katherine swept my hair up from around the chair. There seemed to be an awful lot of it collected in the dustpan to be dumped unceremoniously into the bin.  I watched as she returned to her client, dabbed at her damp hair with the towel, combed through it then applied a good handful of the setting gel that even as I watched was drying onto my own locks.  I did note however that Rita’s hair was already curly, even before the rollers went in.  All in due time Rita’s hair was imprisoned in rollers like my own and she was netted and padded before being escorted to the seat next to mine. She smiled at me conspiratorially as she passed then was established comfortably under the dryer. We sat side by side for a moment. In matching gowns with our similarly blued hair wrapped tightly around rollers under matching nets. The main difference was our faces, mine far more youthful, less lined, more vibrant perhaps. Of course her hair was blue through the process of age; whitening it before Katherine had used the rinse. She had applied more artifice to mine, bleaching me white blond before giving me a classic blue rinse.   I began to have doubts for a moment, worrying about the path I had embarked upon before I was pulled from my thoughts by Katherine who began to firmly press the rollers into my scalp feeling around to check of they were dry.  She declared I needed five more minutes to dry the back and so I was left to return to my magazine to finish cooking.

Seven minutes later and I was sitting back in front of the oval mirror. Katherine slipped a short, flowery, lace trimmed cape onto my shoulders.  She then carefully slipped the ear pads from underneath the net before she untied it, taking care to lift it straight away from my hair to avoid disturbing any of my new curls.  She carefully rolled the net up then began to remove the picks from the rollers. My stiffly dried locks refused to release them and even without the

picks I still had a full head of tightly wound curlers.  Katherine began to untwist the rollers from my hair. I watched as she pulled each one free and the lock which had been held there sprang back to mimic the shape it had been held in, the setting gel making it stiff. Roller after roller was removed and I was soon left looking at a head which sported a silvery blue balloon of hair tamed into tubes where the curlers had been.  Katherine picked up a tailcomb. “Of course we must perm your hair to give it the hold and body it needs.” She said as she lifted a curl at the crown.  She ran the comb through breaking up the rigid tube a little then as I watched the very lightly backcombed the roots. Then running the comb through the tress once more she eased the ends into a soft and silky curl, the set and the backcombing holding it clear of my scalp and making me an inch and a half taller. She began work on the next curl.  “You need a perm to give the shape and structure to the style.” A second curl took shape next to the first. She worked on. “All my lady’s have perms. It means if they want to wash and leave their hair they can sport a simple curly look.” More combing and teasing. “…but they really come into there own when they are the support for a good firm set.”  More curls were fluffed then coaxed into shape. “Now I can’t perm you for a couple of weeks to let your colour settle down so the week after next we’ll make you a permanently curly girl OK?” she didn’t wait for an answer but simply continued to work.  As I watched, worried about how to get out of having my hair permed she completed the comb out – my hair was now a fluffy round shape about my face. “Oh my god I’m a helmet head!” I thought to myself. She moved to the front and pulled my fringe down until it half covered my eyes (which I closed.) Suddenly I felt the scissors cold on my forehead – not just on my forehead, level with my eyebrows perhaps, no these were high on my skin almost an inch above my plucked arching brows. Schnick, schnick, schnick. She carefully clipped across. I dared not look. I knew my fringe was being massacred. Schnick, schnick, schnick. She paused and combed the fringe down then schnick, schnick, schnick carefully clipped it once more. I realised she had finished so I shakily opened my eyes. My fringe now ended as the harshest of blunt lines halfway down my forehead. I think she saw my eyes widen in shock as I took it in and she simply said “a lovely short blunt fringe so finishes off this sort of style don’t you think.” I said nothing but simply stared in horror at my hairstyle yet still feeling a growing warm feeling, a sense of having taken a vital step on the road of my future life.

Katherine stepped up close behind me and unceremoniously pushed my head forwards. I stared over the cape and gown at my feet, my chin on the soft silky nylon. Biiizzzzzz a high pitch buzzing began behind me.  Katherine used her left hand to press into my nape, it was warm but not gentle. She pressed under my hair and moved it upwards. “When you have short hair it’s always a bit raggy here depending on your hairline. The best way to get a nice clean line across the nape is to undercut the neck.” Bizzzzz something pressed into my neck.

“U-u-undercut?” I mumbled into the cape. Bzzzzz the object moved up my neck below her hand which seemed to be holding my set curls out of the way. “Yes we shave the nape with the clippers to give a lovely clean and tidy finish?” Oh my god. I couldn’t believe it. Had she said shave? “Erm, er, shave?”  Had I really asked that as a question or was it just my mind? Bizzzzzz she continued on my neck as she proved I had asked the question out loud by answering it for me.

“Yes these are what we call edgers, they take the hair clean off, down to just shadow. It keeps the bottom perimeter of your hairstyle looking very very neat and tidy. Of course it means we need to keep it up but that’s not a real problem since I’ll tidy up your neck each time you come in for a set if you need it. When your hair grows back in dark we may need to use soap and a razor to get it smooth but since we have just bleached you the edgers will do fine.” I couldn’t believe it; she had just been talking about shaving my nape as though it was the most common thing in the world. Perhaps in her world of traditional hairdressing it was. Bizzzz…. She clicked off the clippers and the only noise for a moment was the whirr of Rita’s drier. “There we go nice and tidy…”

She put the clippers back on the counter and used her tailcomb to prod and poke at my new hairdo for a few moments carefully scrutinising each curl and tress. She picked up a large can of hairspray on the counter.  She stood behind me to the left. Sssssssss. She began over my ear. She hadn’t asked me if I had wanted spray, I had been about to refuse. Sssssss she moved around the back quite slowly the spray dousing my new set curls. Ssssss around the right side, the sticky spray falling on my ear which was now only partly covered with a hard line of curls.    Sisssssss. AT the last moment I closed my eyes. She sprayed the front, hairspray falling on my now exposed forehead then sisssssss, over the top.  For ten seconds she had been spraying my hair. She stopped and I opened my eyes to see the last remnants of a cloud of spray dissipating.  The cloying scent seemed to burrow to the back of my nostrils and I could see as the spray dried on my hair.  She used the tail of the comb to ease a few wayward hairs into place.  Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss. This time she kept the nozzle pressed and just moved the can round and around my head. She stopped and I looked into the mirror at the perfect silvery blue helmet hairstyle. As she prodded once more with the comb I could see how the spray made the hair stick together and move in sections.  She stepped back to admire her work.

She picked up the small mirror and lifted it in behind me.  I stared with mixed feelings at my new look.  The perimeter was perfect. Turned under curls on my ears, my forehead and of course across my shaven nape.  I could see where every roller had been in creating this fluffed and teased bouffant. “I’ve been gentle with you” she said. “I’ve given you a classic bubble cut to just over three inches then set it for you. I know you said my most traditional hairstyle but I thought you might not have the nerve.” I simply looked at this incredibly stern hairstyle and wondered what could be a stronger look. “So I’ve left it quite long for you.” She continued.  “You can have it set next week then the week after it will be time for your perm. Once your perm has settled down and you are used to it I’ll give you a proper cut OK?”  I simply nodded almost in a daze.

“Erm yes, erm, thank you, erm that will be lovely.”  She picked up a soft brush and briskly ran it over my neck then sssss sssssss. I only just closed my eyes again before I received a final firm spraying.  This time though she was finished and removed the little comb out cape before turning away.  I was able to stand and walk to the desk where she took the wrapover gown from me. I caught sight of myself in a mirror behind the desk and didn’t recognise myself.  “That will be seven pounds fifty please” she said and I handed over the sum which was less than a quarter of what I might expect to pay normally.

We continued for a few minutes whilst we worked out further appointments. There was a mirror on the wall behind the reception desk and I couldn’t help but look at my new image.  I almost absentmindedly ran a palm up my neck. I shuddered as I felt the stubble for a moment then the side of my hand brushed against the stiff curls. At last happy that I was finished Katherine showed me to the door. “See you next week Karen” she said with a smile.

“See you next week, thank you…” I stepped out of the salon into the street and the door closed behind me. I realised that this time the hairdressery scents were clustered around me just as they had been around the lady who had unwittingly led me here. I walked down the street a little nervous and self conscious.  I felt a tickle of breeze on my neck but realised my hair hadn’t moved. I paused outside a shop window. I could clearly see my reflection. It didn’t look like me.  Yesterday I had looked like any trendy wannabe in her late twenties, now I looked much more mature and much less assertive. I tentatively lifted my hands to my hair. It felt stiff to the touch, almost immobile. I found myself smiling then walking on happily.

I shopped for a couple of hours. I found I was treated politely and helpfully by shop assistants. As a treat I sat down with coffee in the biggest bookshop in town.  As I was sitting looking at a novel and sipping my drink I was interrupted by “Er Karen, is that really you?”  I looked up to see Stephen, a colleague from work.  I smiled up at him and said yes, inviting him to sit down and join me. I had admired Stephen for weeks but he had never approached me before. I knew he was single at the moment.  He was tall and slim.  He dressed well and smartly and I wondered why he seemed to be avoiding me.  After three hours of conversation, several cups of coffee and finally a walk through the park it all became clear.  He had previously thought me far too trendy for him to approach even though he had yearned to get to know me.  My transformation to “such a wonderfully sedate and attractive woman” (his words) had been the catalyst to get him to speak to me and the fact I just happened to choose the bookshop where he spent most of his days off was pure coincidence.  I walked home after spending the afternoon with him with my feet hardly touching the ground.  As I pushed open the door and stepped into the house my mum called from the sitting room. “Hi Karen, is that you?” (Who else had a key?). I paused for a moment in the hall and patted my hair. Unnecessary since it was all perfectly in place. I stepped into the room and she looked up at me puzzled at first and then a broad smile spread across her face. “My Karen but you look absolutely wonderful!” I fought back tears as I saw the love on her face and rushed to her spilling out all my news of the day. She kept smiling at me. “Darling you look delightful; it is so nice to see you presenting a sedate and conservative image instead of trying to look like a wild child. Where did you have it done?” I told her about Katherine’s. “Erm she is a nice traditional hairdresser, one of the most traditional in town in fact. Perhaps I should go there with you next time?”  I smiled and agreed then could hold in my news about Stephen no longer. “And he liked your new image?” My mother asked as I explained about his reticence. When I nodded she verbalised the thought that had been running through my head. “Then we had better be sure you keep it up then….” I smiled once more and nodded meekly. “I suppose we had better…” I said accepting that my change had been made.

The following morning when I got up I was surprised to find my hair had retained most of its shape. I washed and dressed then went down for breakfast.  Mum was already in the kitchen. “Morning,” I said as I walked in. She smiled at me. “Mum could you help me fix my hair before work, sorry to ask but its all still a bit new to me.” My mum smiled. “Of course I can darling, it will be like the old days getting you ready for school…” After breakfast we went back upstairs but mum insisted I go into her room. I sat on the stool in front of her dressing table and watched as she poked and prodded at my hair. She paused for a moment and backcombed lightly a couple of sections I had slept on. Very swiftly it was back to the shape it had been. I looked at the blue sheen to my light locks worrying about how I would be received at work. Mum picked up the can of hairspray from the table and I just closed my eyes in time as she gave me a good scoosh. A last couple of prods with the comb then ssisssss a final spraying.  I opened my eyes and stared at the perfect helmet style she had managed to reshape and smiled, ready to face the world…

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