Like a little red sports car for your head

My hairdresser is sizing up the damage that time and lazy grooming have inflicted on the beautiful head of hair she created for me only weeks ago. She mixes hopes, dreams and a little magic into secret color formulas. Her clients leave feeling like Bond girls.

"What are we doing today?" she asks, as if she doesn't know exactly what is called for.

"I would never interfere with your professional judgement," I say, "just mix the formula for hot, but smart; hip, but not trying too hard; sexy, but in a way that leaves my professional credibility undiminished; eye candy, but eye candy with authority. Eye candy that gets the raise. Which formula is that?"

"We call it 'mid-life crisis,' " she says.

Perfect.