The Sort of Apology

I wish you'd let it go. Really. It was months ago, for crying out loud. Had I known at the time you'd be hanging onto my every word like it was carved in stone, coming down from the mountain, I would have shut up before I started. It was just a suggestion, anyway. A casual remark, something I said in passing. No need for you to be so literal. I really had no intention of stirring up shite like this, regardless of what you may think. And look, it's fine now. It's almost grown back in and I would venture to say, it's healthier now as a result. Wouldn't you agree? I mean, all of that processing over the years catches up to you and really, let's be honest, we're not young- the whole chemical construction changes with age,  and hormones- just look at when the grey comes in, it practically stands straight up and screams LOOK AT ME, I'M HERE! Not that it's a bad thing, the grey- I'm not saying that, not at all but I just think one has to deal with it differently as a woman of a certain age, you know? Pink is fine if you're rocking out an urban artsty fartsy vibe, replete with your vintage cat eye frames and long sweater over a short skirt and tights but we left uni 35 years ago. Almost forty. I only meant to imply that with your colouring and skin tone, your eyes and shape of face that perhaps a sassy bob with heavy bangs in a warmer red would look sharp. I didn't mean a one inch fringe and flaming fuschia streaks, did I? I mean, did I actually use those words- if I did, I don't remember, I truly don't. You were the one who showed up with the Laphroig and brick of peat, so we could reminisce about Sligo and fiddle playing rockclimbers. Oh he was lovely, wasn't he? Anyway, I think the bangs look smashing now, just long enough and I've always thought you were better suited to a darker brunette.

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