What am I turning into?

I have never been what you would call a girly-girl. I don’t do make up and all that stuff. I was mortified when, once I had to ask Bob to take the controls because the vents were blowing my hair into my eyes! This may be why the girls at work thought that an “I can be a pilot” Barbie doll was an appropriate gift for my last birthday. They have a strange sense of humour!
 
So what the hell has happened to me? I’m about to head out and pay a person the equivalent of half a flying lesson to dump some cold, itchy chemical on my hair for about an hour*. Not only that but last week in the absence of any work to do, I voluntarily went shoe shopping. That means I went shopping for shoes without the previous pair on my feet literally falling to pieces. I actually spent a flying lessons worth of money on two pairs of boots because they were, and I cringe when I think of me saying this, “cute”. I also brought new clothes, which I’m too scared to wear to work because it’s so unlike what I normally wear that I know I’m going to draw comments.

The current theory according to my spiritual gurus** A, E and KW, is that it is all flying’s fault. The confidence I’ve gained from this (maybe combined with the 40 pounds and 4 clothes sizes I’ve dropped in the past year) means that I’m starting to pay more attention to how I look.

I don’t think I like this. Being female is, apparently, expensive. So is flying. I can’t really afford both!

* I’ve dyed my hair so much that I’ve forgotten what my natural hair colour is. Even after the dye has faded, the base layer is now bleached so much that I look blonde. Interesting fact, the brighter my hair colour choice, the more pissed of I am at work. I save the pink for when they’ve really been annoying me. Things must be Okish at the moment judging by my present choice

** AKA drinking buddies