Family get-together this weekend. “You’re looking well”, says one of Monsieur R's family to me over the dinner table. Hmmm. She’s either a) not noticed the huge valises underneath my eyes (it’s true that the light goes early in the afternoon), or b) she’s being kind and avoiding commenting on them. Then it hit me. “Actually, it’s my haircut”, says I, patting my head proudly. For I, dear readers, am the proud owner of the cut of a jeune maman dynamique.
Somewhat sceptical on leaving the salon, I am fast becoming convinced of the magical powers of persuasion. The cut in question is actually uncannily similar to the one that I had before, but this time, it’s all in the fringe. The fringe is moderne. It’s not straight across the way I had when I was eight and my mother styled me with her dressmaking scissors; nor is it all wispy-like, requiring 20 minutes brushing and mousse to coax it to life, as I had before. Nope, this one slopes off to the side, and therein lies the difference. Admittedly, I do sometimes find myself peering into the mirror looking for the moderne fringe as it seems to have got tangled up in the rest of the do, but at least I know that it’s in there somewhere. And sometimes it hangs in my eyes, especially when I’m wearing a hat. But that’s the price you pay for being dynamique.
So I look forward to embracing 2009 with renewed energy and panache - I may not have slept in over 2 years, I may have trouble stringing together a sentence, but I have a hairdo to live up to and that’s some responsibility.