At Least I’m Not Bald…?

September 19, 2011

in Blame The Sudafed, Cheap Expectations, I Learn the Lessons So You Don't Have To

When we last left our heroine, I looked a little something like this:

Which is to say, a bit less Desperate Housewives of Beverly Hills, and a bit more Desperate Housewives of Deliverance, Kentucky.

Fortunately, I seem to live in a town where DIY hair disasters are a common occurrence.  Or so I assume.  Since no one at the local Walmart, Target, or Post Office raised even one eyebrow at the bright orange hair peeking out from under the ball cap I managed to jam on my head before heading out in search of help.

Unfortunately, when I found it?  It came in the form of a beauty school drop out manning the counter at our local salon supply shop.  And her first words, upon my timid removal of the ball cap?


At least it earned me the stylist’s discount on the supplies I’d need to transform back to something other than Rainbow Brite’s ugly step sister.

So what, exactly, does one need to chemically alter the genetic makeup of one’s own hair?

Yes.  The Wine IS necessary.

As are the rubber gloves…

Now, normally, this would be the moment when I would call Maggy, the only woman I know who has had more…creative hair experiences than I, and beg her to drop by with a bottle of wine and a pair of rubber gloves.

Unfortunately for me, I?  LIVE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE.

And while Maggy also shares my penchant for living in the middle of nowhere.  Her middle of nowhere?  Is about 16hours south of my middle of nowhere.

Which left me on my own.

With a bottle of Arbor Mist.

And no rubber gloves.

FYI?  Arbor Mist?  Doesn’t taste anywhere near as good after you’ve turned 21.

And the Big Man.

Have I mentioned how amazing the Big Man has been at biting his tongue throughout this saga?  It’s because he thinks I’m ravishingly beautiful no matter what.  That and he’s a tad terrified of the post-partum hormonal banshee who can’t stop alternately crying and laughing because she’s about to chemically burn off what remains of her hair.

So when he came home and saw what I was contemplating, namely, handing my 21month old son the dye brush and letting him go to town on the back of Momma’s head, he gamely volunteered to help out.

And as he stood behind me, a bowl of purplish hair dye in one gloved hand, a trembling dye brush in the other, and, despite 16 years of post-high school education between us, nary a beauty school certification to be seen, he thought the moment was right to deliver these comforting words:

Well, at least if you go bald – you’ll know it wasn’t cancer!


Marcie November 1, 2011 at 9:54 pm

Looks great! I envy your natural waves.

NSC September 20, 2011 at 11:01 am

LMAO!!! Your hair looks cuper cute now though. You went a whole lot further than I ever had, I always get the box dye at the pharmacy. Last time I did that, I decided to put highlights in to make my hair look more “natural”…it doesn’t look natural. And I’ve been putting off getting it “fixed” professionally (which I assume means bleaching my whole head since I have blond/white splotches near my scalp) because I’m super cheap. I’m going to have to cough it up soon though…you can only part your hair different for so long before those splotches grow out!

Domesticated Gal September 22, 2011 at 7:06 am

I was going to just do the dye box, but the beauty school drop out scared that idea right out of me when I suggested it. All she uttered was two words: Green Hair.

Maybe the Ombre hair fad will change to polka dotted hair soon??

Comments on this entry are closed.

Previous post:

Next post: