Curl Up And Dye

When I’m bored, I speak in a southern accent and dye my hay-ah. At least, that’s what I did the last time I felt bored. I convinced myself that products have changed, I’m more experienced and lightening doesn’t strike the same place twice. That isn’t entirely true. It seems that the lightener I used struck the exact same spot it did before and my hair ended up looking more like a skunk’s tail than sun-kissed locks. There’s nothing like that throaty gasp that can be heard by surrounding neighbors when you pull the towel from your head to expose a damp mop of bright yellow straw. As Saul Bellows would say, “a suicide blonde…dyed by my own hand!” What’s worse is when I went to work the next day and heard co-workers whispering and snickering in their cubicles as I walked by.
Since my hairdresser is on vacation and I was too embarrassed to see a strange professional, I decided to fix it myself. Funny how porous hair GRABS onto darker color with every ounce of follicle strength it can muster. The next day I’m walking past the same cubicles looking like Elvira, but no one recognizes me. With the aid of several hair color kits, in a week’s time, I went from skunk tail to ginger root brown, which is pretty much my natural color. I found that a good, brown, synthetic wig is easy to care for and is virtually indistinguishable in appearance from human hair except to the most practiced eye, or to the average kindergartener.
This was one of my milder blunders. It could have been worse, like the time I gave myself a perm and ended up looking like a sheep’s butt. There’s a reason they call it a permanent. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT IS! I had to wait over six months for my hair to grow out before I could torture it some more. It topped any of the wondrous home perms my mother gave me when I was a kid.
Have I learned my lesson? I doubt it. Besides, you have to lose over 50% of your scalp hairs before female pattern baldness is apparent. I don’t have a very long memory when it comes to painful lessons. Once the cast is off, the arm was never broken seems to be my motto. Maybe I could embarrass myself by posting a blog on the Internet for all to see. Here ya go. Sure beats the most ruthless remedy for a bad hair day…a guillotine.