Dyeing for some fleeting color
Dear Reader,
Who among you remembers "Only her hairdresser knows for sure"? If you do, raise your hand. Aha! You have just aged yourself! Well, dear Reader, that's perfectly alright, because I just admitted my age as well. When that commercial came out on television, our family had only 2 channels from which to choose. We children were our parents remote control. When Dad said, "Carol, turn the TV over," he did not mean to flip the television on its head. He meant to change the channel to the only other station we had.
Well, enough about how old I am. I believe I've just established that I'm old enough to be going gray, but not old enough to look good at being gray, hence, 'only my hairdresser knows for sure'. I'm just a little gray around the temples.That's my story and I'm sticking to it. My hairdresser died with the dinosaurs and no one has seen my natural hair color since Women's Suffrage.
In these tough economic times, Old Man and I have had to resort to some pretty drastic measures. One of which is the color of my hair. In order to economize on personal image, I have given up beauty salon color. Oh, yes, I have. But, don't weep for me. I have the best of all worlds in Old Man.
You see, Younger Daughter thought it would be a great idea if I were to color my hair just a 'tad' darker than I was used to. "Oh, Mother," she cooed, "You would look so much younger." I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. She chose the color and then high-tailed out of town.
What was I to do? I mean, the random gray strands were becoming evident. The box of color was in my hand waiting to be used, strand-tested and everything! It was just Old Man and me in the kitchen. I devoured the instructions, wanting to be sure I did everything correctly. Old Man, oblivious to what I was about to ask of him, munched on a ham on rye turkey sandwich.
When he came up for air, I asked him as sweetly as I could if he would mind helping me with my little color job. Looking a little leery, he asked what he would have to do. I would put the color on the front part of my hair, the part I could see, all he would have to do is put it on the back, and see, here on the instructions, it has pictures of just how to do that, it couldn't be simpler, it wouldn't take 5 minutes. He wanted to say no, but I have the secret weapon.
"I could have this done downtown at the salon, you know, where I had it done last time. You didn't like the color and it cost over $100? This little box was just over $10, but I can't do it myself." Old Man is a sucker for saving money. He bravely donned the gloves when it came to be his turn to squirt dark thick stuff all over my head. He squirted, then rubbed. "No, don't rub it into my scalp, my skin will turn dark. Remember the pictures? It said do this . . ." and I stretched out my hands with fingers spread to demonstrate how to run the color down the hair. Old Man tried, but before long, he was rubbing color into my scalp again.
"Old Man, if you keep doing that, I'll have a dark head and blonde hair growing out of it! Please, do it right. I don't want to have to go to the salon and have them fix whatever we messed up!"
Money, that did it! He began to run the color down the sections of hair like the picture showed.
"I sure do wish I was out on the lawnmower right now," he quipped.
As soon as it seemed that Old Man was getting the hang of it, my ears got in the way. He couldn't get away from my ears, and dear Reader, I don't have big ears. I was afraid I was going to come out with dark brown ears, but luckily that was one of the few things that went right that day.
Finally, all the color solution was on my head. I let it stay on the recommended time and then washed it all out. Oh, my goodness, were Old Man and I surprised and caught completely off-guard.
Come back to read my next blog to see how it all turns out!
© 2011 Carol Phares
Who among you remembers "Only her hairdresser knows for sure"? If you do, raise your hand. Aha! You have just aged yourself! Well, dear Reader, that's perfectly alright, because I just admitted my age as well. When that commercial came out on television, our family had only 2 channels from which to choose. We children were our parents remote control. When Dad said, "Carol, turn the TV over," he did not mean to flip the television on its head. He meant to change the channel to the only other station we had.
Well, enough about how old I am. I believe I've just established that I'm old enough to be going gray, but not old enough to look good at being gray, hence, 'only my hairdresser knows for sure'. I'm just a little gray around the temples.That's my story and I'm sticking to it. My hairdresser died with the dinosaurs and no one has seen my natural hair color since Women's Suffrage.
In these tough economic times, Old Man and I have had to resort to some pretty drastic measures. One of which is the color of my hair. In order to economize on personal image, I have given up beauty salon color. Oh, yes, I have. But, don't weep for me. I have the best of all worlds in Old Man.
You see, Younger Daughter thought it would be a great idea if I were to color my hair just a 'tad' darker than I was used to. "Oh, Mother," she cooed, "You would look so much younger." I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. She chose the color and then high-tailed out of town.
What was I to do? I mean, the random gray strands were becoming evident. The box of color was in my hand waiting to be used, strand-tested and everything! It was just Old Man and me in the kitchen. I devoured the instructions, wanting to be sure I did everything correctly. Old Man, oblivious to what I was about to ask of him, munched on a ham on rye turkey sandwich.
When he came up for air, I asked him as sweetly as I could if he would mind helping me with my little color job. Looking a little leery, he asked what he would have to do. I would put the color on the front part of my hair, the part I could see, all he would have to do is put it on the back, and see, here on the instructions, it has pictures of just how to do that, it couldn't be simpler, it wouldn't take 5 minutes. He wanted to say no, but I have the secret weapon.
"I could have this done downtown at the salon, you know, where I had it done last time. You didn't like the color and it cost over $100? This little box was just over $10, but I can't do it myself." Old Man is a sucker for saving money. He bravely donned the gloves when it came to be his turn to squirt dark thick stuff all over my head. He squirted, then rubbed. "No, don't rub it into my scalp, my skin will turn dark. Remember the pictures? It said do this . . ." and I stretched out my hands with fingers spread to demonstrate how to run the color down the hair. Old Man tried, but before long, he was rubbing color into my scalp again.
"Old Man, if you keep doing that, I'll have a dark head and blonde hair growing out of it! Please, do it right. I don't want to have to go to the salon and have them fix whatever we messed up!"
Money, that did it! He began to run the color down the sections of hair like the picture showed.
"I sure do wish I was out on the lawnmower right now," he quipped.
As soon as it seemed that Old Man was getting the hang of it, my ears got in the way. He couldn't get away from my ears, and dear Reader, I don't have big ears. I was afraid I was going to come out with dark brown ears, but luckily that was one of the few things that went right that day.
Finally, all the color solution was on my head. I let it stay on the recommended time and then washed it all out. Oh, my goodness, were Old Man and I surprised and caught completely off-guard.
Come back to read my next blog to see how it all turns out!
© 2011 Carol Phares
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I've enjoyed writing this, as I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Please leave a comment about whether you like it or if not, constructive criticism is always welcome.