In this day and age you are quite entitled to identify as whatever you want, if social media has taught us anything, it’s taught us that. However, I identify as a woman, a female, as was assigned to me at birth.

When we first moved to our house in a new area, I had to find a new hairdresser, not necessarily a huge task for most people. However, being that my mobility is so poor and quite often I’m in a wheelchair, I had to find somewhere that was accessible and accepting of “Differently abled” people. Nothing worse than walking into a salon with two sticks as a 30-something year-old woman being stared at by all the snooty, highfalutin, up-your-own-arse women sat there spending inordinate amounts of money on a stupid hairstyle, just because they can and it gets them out of the house for a few hours.

So a friend of ours recommended the lady that she goes to, she had a home salon which is on the ground floor and I can park on her drive so I don’t have to walk far. Perfect. And she was lovely. I don’t have anything particularly complex, I had a short graduated bob at the time which just needed maintaining. Only I’ve never been satisfied with my hair, I found it’s the one thing I can change as often as I want and keep it interesting knowing full well that it will grow out if I don’t like it. So I figured I’d been every colour under the rainbow and now age was catching up so I thought I’d go grey, very fashionable at the time. I’d also go for a more choppy interesting look, so I found a picture (see below) on the Internet and took it to my new hairdresser. She seemed confident that she could do it. We would do the Cut first then start on the colour… only it didn’t go to plan. What I actually ended up with was this fucking monstrosity.

On one side of my head, a cut so short that all you can see is my double chin, and on the other side of my head an eight-year-old fucking boy. Just in time for my 40th birthday. Amazing. The hairdresser seemed really pleased with her work, stating how “cutting edge” and modern it was. I on the other hand was less than impressed. I left without saying anything, after all, you can’t fucking stick it back on can ya? The damage was done. I texted my husband and warned him that he was now married to a schoolboy, and I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to come anywhere near me for the foreseeable! A few days later, I was due to go back to Reading, my hometown, for a get together with some friends for my birthday, looking oh so fucking fabulous!! But like I say, it’ll grow out, and luckily for me, my hair does grow quite quickly, at least something on my crappy body works like it should, right? So I found myself another new hairdresser, and sacked the old one, and spent the next year meticulously, maintaining my hair, so it will grow out and not look like a boy anymore. It’s now shoulder length and I have to start thinking about what I’m gonna do with it. But I think what I’ll do is go back to my old salon in Reading for my next cut where I know Lucy, my old hairdresser, will do a decent job of it!