No. Not so much.

"What happened to the blonde?" Lewis asked me. I frowned at him for a moment as he sort of stroked clumsily at my hair, then decided to forgive him; he's moving to Dubai next week, and I anticipate something of a shortage of blonde locked girls.
"I haven't been blonde in weeks, love. But it had to go, it was rousing too much speculation."
"Like?"
"It was unfavourably likened to a mermaid. Oh, and I got called a sloane."
He laughed. The bastard laughed. "Let's look at this, shall we babe? I know your mummy has the pony thing going on, so I know you can ride--"
"--but I don't."
"--You had peroxide blonde hair, and you own a pashmina--"
"--that's not fair! You can't discriminate against me because of that! I defy you to find a girl who doesn't!" Slightly over wrought.
"You took your hair straightners to Yemen with you--"
"--Yemen. Not, ah, Rock."
"--and you went to public school, and are, safe to say, pretty much a Londoner."

I made a conscious effort to smooth out the frown lines. I refuse to turn into my mother.

"This isn't a bad thing though."
"And how, sir, do you work that one out?"
"I thought the blonde look was dead nice. *pauses* It reminded me, you know Phoebe?"
"Um. The one you hooked up with? The high jump champion who superseeded me when I was relieved of my position as Head Girl."
"Yep."
"The one who had ring worm?"
"Um--"
"--and announced her lesbian status at the end of year ball while on stage with the gym mistress?"

Ahh, high school friends. Much appreciated.