Growing Old…

Today I went to the hairdressers for a colour makeover.

Zoya, my hairdresser, showed me the various colour options and in a moment of absolute madness I was tempted to have my hair dyed purple. Not because I like purple, but more a statement of rebellion that while my body is decrepit and aging, inside I am still eighteen and wild.

No, aliens have not abducted me. I was recently reminded of purple in a poem by Jenny Joseph. The poem is titled ‘Warning’ but people often refer to it as ‘When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple’. Are you familiar with the poem? No, then it’s worth a read.

I was still pondering on the colour when the young assistant gave me two glossy magazines to read while I waited.

One magazine pictured young girls in skimpy dresses or modelling bikinis. Pouting, lips, flawless skin, perfect bodies with perky boobs stared back at me. Sigh… me a lifetime ago.

I picked up the other glossy option: A lifestyle magazine promoting a million dollar lifestyle with designer clothes, makeup and perfume. Oh, and luxury holidays in destinations I can only dream of.

I sighed, put down the magazine of dreams and looked out of the window at the old and the ordinary. An elderly women with bright red hair with purple streaks paused to throw some money in a beggar’s bowl and he clasped her hands in gratitude.

Decision made, I pointed to a colour on the colour chart.

Related Post: Midlife Crisis

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8 thoughts on “Growing Old…

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  1. I think we all feel like this – although I don’t have to worry about boobs , perky or otherwise!
    I have a picture of me finishing comrades marathon (90 km) on the wall above my desk. 1993.
    A lifetime ago. I feel chuffed if I can jog around the block these days.
    But I still have most of my hair, a few of my marbles, and all of my sense of humour so I’II consider myself pretty lucky.

    And for what it’s worth … as a former professional hairdresser – blonde looks just fine on you.


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