Guess the mystery color
Normally I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to my hair. That might sound odd, considering that in the last 20 years I’ve dyed it every color found naturally on human heads, plus one or two that aren’t. But those are usually spur-of-the-moment decisions, not something I spend much time in considering before I do it. The vast majority of the time, I don’t care what my hair looks like, as long as it’s: a) not sticking out in several different directions, b) not getting in my face, and c) feels nice & smells nice.
(There’s the stereotype that girls do crazy things to their hair when they’re heartbroken, but the real truth? Those of us who are even vaguely inclined to do crazy things to our hair will use “getting dumped or heartbroken” as an excuse to do crazy things to our hair! Much the same way that some men dump their wives for a younger chick & buy a sportscar during a “mid-life crisis” – they’re only using a mid-life crisis as an excuse. Really, they’re just assholes who were looking for a reason to dump the wife & get the car of their dreams…which they look ridiculous driving, anyway.)
But I noticed a few weeks ago that my roots were showing something awful, since the last time I dyed my hair (black) was a couple months-ish ago, and the roots seem to have entirely more grey in them than I want to look at…or think about. Being the mother of two teenagers and a few pounds past MILF-qualifying stage doesn’t bother me; I have little doubt that I’ll still be sexy when I’m 75, no matter whether I’m round as an apple or rail-thin. But grey hair aggravates me to no freaking end…it instantly brings to mind the stereotypical spinster librarian, like the ones that used to hover when I was a preteen browsing in the adult section at the library; sometimes it seemed those greying ladies were just desperate for someone to just acknowledge them. Creepy.
Luckily, I can buy L’Oreal…because I’m worth it. *snicker*
So when I opened up the package of hair dye and mixed the one goop with the other goop, and it turned an alarming shade of dark salmon pink…well, let’s just say that a couple of decades of hair-dyeing experience is a good thing at that point, as I remind myself that it never looks the same color on your head as it does in the bottle. (And a good thing, too! Otherwise, the last time I dyed my hair black, the final result would have been somewhere between electric and navy blue.) As I gooped up my hair, I idly wondered how much it would bother me if, for some insane reason, my hair actually did turn out a dark salmon pink shade. Anytime during my first decade of chemically-abusing my hair, it would have brought me to the brink of hysterics and made me rethink just how badly I hated to wear hats. But if it happened now, it would just be mildly annoying whenever I happened to think about it, or I’d cut my hair super-short & dye it black (which has happened a couple times in the past, after a less-than-thrilling dye job). I can’t figure out if I’m older & wiser, or just older & tired-er. *sigh*
If it turned out orange, however, I’d still be on the brink of hysterics!
