Changing rooms are truly terrifying. People who look decent, fresh and presentable in 'real time' suddenly warp into hideous, sallow-skinned zombies in that confined, musty-smelling cell that forces you to look at yourself in the most unflattering light as could possibly be.
Facial characteristics are magnified to horrific proportions; zits appear 4 times the size of the moon and previously plucked eyebrows look like they belong to a giant sloth. With a morbid and detached curiosity, as I examined my skin through the looking glass, I felt as though I were standing in the presence of Gulliver's Brobdingnagian or before Frankenstein's creature in my reflection. How strange that what may be a reason for delight can also with a twist of hand, be a source of revulsion.
Hair which before was lustrous and full, turned limp, dry and in this unkind light I spotted a white hair. A single strand, luminiscent and obnoxious, arrogantly and deliberately defying the natural order to remain black. Needless to say I promptly plucked it out. I was halfway through congratulating myself when I noticed another white hair and yet another and yet another. Horrible, nasty, fishing-string-looking things, wired higgledy piggledy all through my head.
Distressed, I refused to continue shopping and went home to salvage the dire straits I had found my head to be in by consuming two bananas. May the potassium work its magic overnight.