Yesterday, I celebrated my birthday on a patio with my son, Stefan, and his girlfriend. I was incognito with sunglasses and a Globe and Mail baseball cap. Normally, I would have put some effort into my appearance, but the pandemic has stripped me of my vanity, and I am left hiding in plain sight. All the makeup in the world doesn't matter when you have pandemic hair. For years, I coloured my own hair until what my former hairdresser used to call "the nasty blondes" took over my pate. There is literally no way I can hide the undergrowth of steel strands which have taken over like dandelions in a perfectly manicured yard. So I became a devotee of professional hairstyling sucking it up a couple times a year for a full colour and lights, and another couple of times for attention to my roots. But the pandemic robbed most of us of this option. So we were left to our own devices to try to manage our colour until the doors of the salons opened once again. Thankfully, ...
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