Good old-lady hair is an important asset.
You know the sort I mean: the white weightless cloud attached by some mystery to the head, untouchable by wind or worldly cares. Hair that reflects the light. Hair that exists to add extra oomph to the disdainful over-the-glasses gaze. Hair that could, even in 2014, be accurately described as coiffed.
Not distinguished; implacable. Not perfect; elegant.
Now, I’m not talking about headmistress hair. That’s very important. Elderly headmistress hair ought to be frightening and unnaturally immovable. Headmistress hair is like republican lady hair.
Ideal old-lady hair has waves. It doesn’t move in the wind, but that’s not because of a frightening amount of hairspray; it’s because nature respects it. It defies rain and gravity. It defies stress and humidity. It looks soft, but it has seen things. Do not cross it. Good old-lady hair is a crown.
I wish it was the sort of thing a retirement fund could guarantee, but unfortunately it seems to be a lottery. (Fingers crossed.)