What is this thing? Seriously. WHAT IS THIS?
Hair care is not my thing. I like buns, ponytails, rat’s nests – call them what you will, if they can be accomplished with a rubber band while I’m driving, I’m all up in it. I own a comb (I think) and there is a spray bottle of hair stuff of some sort on my dressing table. It may be furniture polish for all I know, but every few days I’ll use a squirt. It helps get the knots out, makes me smell lemony fresh, and my wood grain looks positively fantastic. Other than that though, I’m pretty much a wash and wear kind of girl.
And while home hair colour kits have come a long way since our mothers’ time, there has been one area in which I’d like to see improvement: home hair colouring kits should come with a breathalyzer. Or at the very least, prevent the sale of hair colouring products at the same location where wine is available to purchase. The formula of Friday night + Shiraz + box of L’Oreal CB415 = no public appearances for 4 to 6 weeks.
Even after “successful” attempts at colouring at home I sometimes get strange looks in public. It’s not my hair so much; that usually looks acceptable, or at the very least, commensurate to what people expect from my personal hygiene standards. No, it’s not the hair. It’s my clothing. I cannot figure out a way to do the whole procedure without winding up looking like I used a plastic spork to kill a guy in a dumpster outside a Chinese Food restaurant.
This time around I chose the best colour I could under the circumstances. If you read my blog, you understand that “circumstances” is code for having a small son. Because while I was trying to determine whether I wanted “Luscious Dark Chocolate C643” or “No One Will Know this Only Cost $6 Golden Brown,” my 7 year-old son is hobbling around the store on two canes and wearing a neck brace he swiped from the home health section yelling, “Hey! Look at me! I’M AN OLD PERSON!”
One aisle over, my daughter is listening intently to the girl demonstrating adult diapers. I hear her ask about their absorbency and then ask for a sample for her mother.
This is likely why I’m going grey in the first place.
HA! Almost 2 weeks ago I put hair dye on my roots (um, grey anyone?) and then timed it and brought it down to cover the rest. Set the timer on the microwave for 10 min and then went upstairs to put F and his friend to bed, and I ask Maia to tell me when it goes off, since she’s on the same floor, reading.
I get the boys to bed, make their next day camp lunches and then sit down with my laptop.
I start to wonder what time it is and say, “hmm…that sure is a LONG 10 minutes!” At which point M tells me that she’s told me “about 3 times” that it went off, and “Now I have proof that YOU DON’T LISTEN TO A WORD I SAY”!
I’ve been wearing a bandana on the top of my head since.
Hi Carolyn! I’ve had a timer mishap once as well. It involved a colour stripper and me not hitting the “start” button. After 30 minutes, my head started to burn and I was suddenly a platinum blonde. NOT a good look for me, what with my bologna coloured skin.
I need to buy some bandanas.
The dollar store sells them.
(Wearing a lovely brown one as I type this!)
Your son is a genius. he should really work in movies or something. Like a costume designer.
You are hilarious – Thank you for sharing your insanity
I’ve been snickering uncontrollably as I make my way through your posts. I thought it was safest to bookmark this spot and come back later before I wake my little Diva!