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Haifa, Israel
Divorced and independent and still looking for Mr. Right in the back of the fridge.

Friday, March 23, 2012



I had my hair done today. Not just cut. Done. (At the risk of being crude, at least someone is doing something to some part of me...)

The man with scissors said to me. "That's it. You've passed the point where you can blend blonde highlights with white hair. It's time to dye. Trust me. You will look fabulous."


Immediate flashback to age 40 plus when I took the plunge and added blond highlights to fool the white at my temples. The highlights served me well until now. (Maybe until a little before now but everyone's been very polite.)

And now I'll tell you something that I swear is true.... a few days ago I had a dream that I had red stringy dyed hair and long dark roots. The scary part of the dream was that I actually left the house that way.  Ask anyone who knows me, my hair is my thing... Over the years, if I had been as pedantic about my weight as I had about my hair, I would be quite stunning today.

Back from flashback and nightmare, I decide to trust this man with scissors.  So Honey brown it is. With a streak of blonde highlight in front to ease the separation anxiety from the aluminum foil  that I had grown fond of over the years. 

Two hours later, I am transformed into a new woman. But which woman?

  • The woman that has to get her roots done every few weeks so that the nightmares don't come back?
  • The woman who is over 50 and wishes the march of time could be replaced by a slow waltz? 
  • Or maybe I'm the woman who has spent a relaxing Friday morning transforming herself into someone who looks a touch younger? (Not too young, please. I'll have to wear skinny jeans) 
So, a new hairstyle, a snazzy pair of sun glasses, a very beautiful Friday morning, and 4 kilos Iighter. 

This weekend may turn out to be OK. 


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