While I’m talking about gender…

which I suppose I was, I was at the hairdresser today when a middle-aged man, wearing a very nice suit and blue shirt with white collar and cuffs, black hair starting to go grey around the edges in that sophisticated, George Clooney-several-years-ago way, came in for a dye job.

Why do I find my own vanity perfectly acceptable and yet did a double take at this gentleman gingerly touching the cling film wrapped around his bonce?

(For the record, I'm thinking: recent divorce and new, younger, girlfriend*.)

* I know, I'm a terrible person.

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