Not for long, though ...
There is one thing that Donna-Lane has made clear in our relationship: I will never get to watch her color her hair. Apparently there's some magic in the potion or the process to which men cannot be privy.
So as we were preparing to travel up to Geneva early tomorrow morning, she told me to 'Shoo' for a couple of hours.
I moseyed down to La Noisette, fired up my computer, connected to
their free WiFi, asked Sophie for a Coke Zero, and wrote most of an
article on the new Airbus A350 pilot training programme for InterPilot
When I returned, D-L was a radiant red again. (She'd prefer to go all white, but that would take a year or more and she's not willing to go 'tri-color' in the process ... red, white and gray.)
I've been going steadily more gray ... or, as I prefer, silver. For some reason, people who haven't seen me for awhile say I actually look younger. Might be the beard. Or maybe they see how happy I am with the little redhead, and I come off with a more youthful energy and outlook. I don't care if she's red, white, or purple -- she always looks golden to me.