I have a friend, Edge Cameron, who is slim, attractive, talented, funny, financially comfortable, and in a relationship with a man she adores, who loves her. Well, I call her a friend. Sometimes I resent her a bit. Even though I invented her.
There are times I find myself, almost to my own indignation, copying her. She joined a singles website, so did I. She has shoulder-long thick red-blonde hair, I grew mine and if anyone can tell me how to thicken it, that would be lovely, ta. And because we’re both autumn roses, the colour isn’t as robust as it once was. She has hers expertly streaked by an expensive hairdresser (see financially comfortable, above). Mine is streaked with, well, I called them blonde threads.
Very, very blonde.
And the streaks, from being occasional threads, have been a bit invasive lately. In direct sunshine, I’m rather less strawberry and rather more blonde. Fortunately there’s not been much direct sunshine in Scotland this year (sigh) but still. See for yourself –
So I ordered that colouring stuff which is personalised for your exact hair colour (medium blonde copper pearl, said the expert) and it arrived during the week and I just used it and it has gently returned to where it should be. Not a flat colour, still naturally varied, less silver, YAY!
Oh, I know I will be silver soon enough and I’m genuinely okay with that but there’s two more books in the series still to write, and I am damned if I am going to slave over a hot keyboard with silvering hair letting Edge look younger than me while I do it.
Ever researching on your behalf
BTW, that marketing thing I’m rubbish at, I should probably mention that Fifteen Sixteen Maids In The Kitchen is imminent. In a week. I should be working on that rather than playing with my hair.
Now that I’m rejuvenated, I’ll get straight onto it.