I'm Fifty Two......But Not Immune To Flattery

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Well on Wednesday I went to have my hair cut. I'd not been for a while and it was looking a bit wild.

The hairdresser is the lady I've mentioned before in this blog,the fellow reader.

Everything seems to be going as normal. She still has never been to Maesteg despite it being only half an hour away and on seeing that the book I'm reading is Benjamin Button (and other stories) by F Scott Fitzgerald says that although not having read the book she saw the film and thought it was good. (I've not seen the film but suspect it's better than the source material,having the advantage of time and special effects).

But then something odd happened. Despite the fact that she's been my hairdresser for a few years, that she knows my instructions are as specific as "just a trim" she suddenly got a razor and went for my hair as if in an Australian sheep shearing competition.

Silver tufts fell to the ground. The floor looked as if a community of aged hedgehogs decided to congregate in Bridgend. Thankfully she stopped leaving me a look best described as just short (or should I say long) of US marine.

A bit dazed I pay what I owe and leave. When the wife sees it she says she likes it. Well OK, but of course she married me so well there we are then.

We now move (or should I say cut) to yesterday (Thursday). I'm at work. I'm chatting to a pretty blonde lady in her late twenties. Out of the blue she remarks that she likes my hair. I'm stunned at this. Later in answer to her question I say I don't feel the cold round my head.

Now let me be clear here. Neither of us was flirting and even if I was intending to have an affair I'm under no illusions that a young woman would consider a relationship with a fifty two year old man with an occasional back problem. Still, I was flattered.

And then it happened again.

I will admit that I was more disconcerted than the first time. Nonetheless I thanked..... him for the complement.

So I'm now in the position that after fifty two years on this planet the hairstyle on my head that is attractive to others is that of near skinhead. I'm not sure what it all means except perhaps I should look forward to going bald.

Until the next time.