A remaining smidgin of vanity

Today was hair colouring day, I keep putting it off and hoping:

(a) the multicoloured hair of my youth returns
(b) a marvellous curly grey starts bursting through my scalp
or
(c)A silky swirl of white cascades softly down my back ready to be swept up into an elegant chignon.

Alas, none of these options have transpired so I am stuck with colouring my hair about every eight weeks. I really dislike the grizzledy grey/brown/blonde that my hair has turned in the life I have over the fence of sixty. Still very thick, my mother always said we each had enough for two heads and it is true. The hair gene manifests mainly through the female line. My father and his mother and his sisters had skinny sad hair and in my father's case it had just about vanished into a thin white circle of tonsure at the end.

None of the salons surrounding me are familiar with a non-chemical dye which is a frightening comment on the hair industry. Hairstylists believe in stripping and blasting every bit of old colour from the hair then applying bleaches and toxic colours to what's left after the first assault.Frightening. Any research shows that this type of arsenal on the head seeps through the skin and can cause brain tumours.

I buy my colouring in the local health store and it does a fine job. I go lighter than my own shade and at the end of the few painstaking hours it takes with a toothbrush I'm left with colouring that is quite natural.At least my doddery old eyes tell me so and that is good enough.

My little vanity, I have a few. Don't we all.

But surely there is room for an all natural hair salon in a city the size of Toronto?