What’s that on your face?

I am at the age of greying hair. I am uncertain as to how grey I am, as I regularly colour my hair.

A number of friends have taken the bold step of allowing the grey, and they all look fantastic. I am not yet this courageous. It’s a bit of a process I believe. My hair grows like a weed and I have a lot of it, so I have to colour regularly. Box colour, full disclosure, I am not glam.

The problem with colour is it gets on your face. You have to be quite diligent about wiping it off carefully when you first apply the colour. Or it stains, of course, in places you don’t want to colour.

Today I failed.

It’s easier to get colour off your skin (it’s not built to colour your skin I guess), but I have a fluffy face. I am grateful, as I age, that unlike my lovely man, my ear and nose hair are not aggressively increasing (what’s with that anyway? Why?). But, my already fluffy face is coming out in force.

I’m like a little Alpaca. A chubby one.

Hair, is what hair colour is meant to colour as it turns out.

So, now I have red sideburns. Mutton chops really.

Best displayed in the sunshine.

The bathroom is sunny. My lovely man walked in and said ‘How’s your hair looking….. oh…. can you shave those?’

I’m quite certain that shaving my face will quickly become a slippery slope.

We have coffee in a bit with friends. In a garden setting. It’s a gorgeous sunny day.

My lovely man never has to worry about me betraying him, nobody else would want me.