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Girl shrugging shoulders

Suppose you want a straight answer. No fluff. No niceties. Suppose you need someone to give you the honest truth. Ask the Asperger’s guy or gal.

But whatever you do, don’t hold it against them. Please don’t ask for it, and then act all wounded. And don’t tell yourself that they are merely being rude or mean. There is no filter. There is no societal BS to adhere to.

In my opinion, this is the most fantastic attribute in today’s society.


So, it’s 2020. Not the best year for keeping up with one’s beauty routines. As the closing down of establishments made it somewhat harder to keep up with appearances, there was the added fact, I can’t lie, that as the world began to crumble, I didn’t give a damn what my roots were doing.

Nonetheless, it had been nine months since my last trim, and over a year, a YEAR!, since my previous hair colour. I was going natural until I decided that if I kept pulling out the grey hairs creeping in, I would create speed stripes along my barnet!

So, deciding that I had earnt a treat, and Christmas (in whatever form that was to arrive in), was just around the corner, I should do it. So why not go blonde again?

I’d deliberated over this for a while before finally booking. After all, I’m not sure when, or even if, I will ever grow out that much of my natural hair colour again.

But I decide to go. I have the dye, and I’m blonde again.

Blonde hair dye
Blonde hair blowing
Blonde woman
Hairdresser tools


Holy crap! I forgot how much hairdressers cost.

Feeling rather pampered, I continue with my day. After squeezing in a swift bite to eat and dealing with emails, I fly back out to collect my daughter from school.

We discuss her day on the way home. We listen to music. We laugh. We get home, and I park the car outside. I get the bags from the car and shut all the doors (my daughter hates touching the car if it’s wet, and I’m quite averse to her kicking her door shut since I bothered to get a nice vehicle).

We walk up to the front door together, and my daughter tilts her head to one side. She looks up at me in that angelic, quizzical nature that children often do.

And she says to me ‘mum?’, to which I reply lovingly ‘yes sweetie?’

‘Have you always looked so old?’





It dawns on me that I wasn’t 100% on the blonde.

I questioned my loyalty to my abolishment to dying hair and my severe failure as a feminist. I questioned my bank balance. But just under the surface. The thing I didn’t want to ask was right there.

Do I look older now?

I wrap my arms around her whilst laughing. ‘I love you baby’, I say as I embrace my awkwardly squirming child. I’m sure she thinks I’m mad.

Nailed it.

Whether you’re thinking it, but not saying it. Or it’s there in the recess of your mind, not quite letting itself be known. The beautiful simplicity of Asperger’s honesty hits the mark every time.


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