Beautifully DRESSED
Doris Robinson’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘I’m not sure they can do that.’ She looked at her neighbour, puzzled.
‘Oh, yes they can.’
‘What exactly did they say?’
‘I told you.’ Margaret looked smug. ‘They said they wouldn’t let you in their salon again. They’re fed up with you pulling faces in the mirror and brushing the style out and tutting. Said it puts off the other customers.’
Doris was indignant. ‘They never listen to me when I tell them how I want it.’
Margaret looked at her enviously. For a woman well into her 70s, Doris really did have the most beautiful hair. It was thick and honey blonde, though she made no secret of the fact that she now had help from the bottle.
How, after all these years of colouring, not to mention ageing, was Doris’ hair still her crowning glory?
‘Who told you this?’ Doris demanded.
‘Sonia Barton, the owner.’
Doris sniffed. ‘She’s only done my hair twice.’
‘The other girls
