Miracle Haircut

Today I had my hair cut. When I went to pick up at school, Biker Boy scowled and grumbled, with the tact and kindness of a breeze block: "Mum, I hate your hair when you get it cut - it looks ugly".

Moments later, one of the mums (who has had more time to learn that tact and kindness do actually get you quite far in life), gushed: "Ooooo your hair looks lovely! Very neat, it's gone a bit Mary Quant hasn't it, Ooooo!"

So I confided that I'd taken a photo of a pretty short-haired celebrity to show the hairdresser what I wanted, but she had completely ignored me and not cut it in that style at all. At this point my friend burst out laughing and spluttered: "You don't still do that, do you? A-HAHAHAHAHA! Hey that hairdresser's rubbish, I told her I wanted to look like Jennifer Aniston and look at me now ... A-HAHAHAHAHA!"

My friend is apparently of the view that a mother of 42 isn't likely to want a style makeover, and ought to be having her hair cut at home rather than in a salon because it's cheaper, and in the same plain old mumsy hairstyle that she's had for the last 10 years, that only takes 10 minutes to trim. Oh and there's probably no point in covering the grey, and come to think of it, why bother shaving your underarms either.

But it was quite a funny moment nevertheless, this "excuse me, I know I'm haggard and grey and frumpy, but please can you make me look like Victoria Beckham?" wheeze. Although slightly embarrassed, I was secretly quite proud of myself for still acting a bit like a teenager sometimes.