NOTE: THIS IS A LIGHTHEARTED POST. DON’T READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED.

Meeting my partner’s new colleagues for the first time, I decided to put in some effort. Firstly, I raided the attic in my parents’ house to dig out a nice designer dress. Then…I bought 100% organic vegetable dye to cover up my grey hair.  I had to do this home job instead of the salon because my hairdresser refuses to colour my hair after my radiotherapy for a variety of lame reasons, like my scalp sensitivity and the danger of making my bald patches worse.  Whatever. 100% Organic vegetable dye, mahogany colour, effective grey coverage – the packet said.  OK, messy.  But looks quite good after a little catastrophe.  Oh yes, had a professional blow dry to artfully disguise the bald patches along my temples – hence the bouffant combover. I even wore the secondhand earrings he bought me from an antique shop, possibly from some dead old granny.

So here’s the finished product:

When he first clapped eyes on me, he frowned. He recovered quickly and proceeded to introduce me to his colleagues, but I could tell there was something knocking about in his small male brain. Something was bothering him.  Am I showing too much cleavage?  No, his eyes weren’t hovering there. Was my skirt too short? No, his eyes weren’t hovering there either.

What is it then?

Sometime through lunch, he hissed in my ear, “What have you done to yourself? You look much OLDER. And I have been bragging to them that you are this blonde, Asian, yogi beach chick. I feel like a right old fool now, thank you. And Jac, tone down your plummy accent, please.”

Moral of the story (as if you don’t know already): NEVER dress to please a man. I should know, shouldn’t I? At my age.