A couple weeks ago, I was looking at myself in the mirror and wondered out loud why my hair looked so boring. Shaun, being the ever helpful one, volunteered that the color was too drab. After I shot a few bolts of lightening at him that would have incinerated a lesser man, I realized that he was right (and you know that I hate to admit that). I hadn’t messed with my hair in a while and my color was boring.
The next time I was in Target, I just happened to saunter by the hair coloring products. Just to see what was out there. Imagine my surprise when I found a box of hair highlighting stuff in one of the bags when I got home. It must have fallen in the cart on accident. I set it on the counter, fully intending to return it. (You do believe me, right?)
This morning, that box called to me. I tried my best to ignore it. Only there was a lull in the morning. This was the first day in quite some time that I had been home all alone in the house. I was waiting for returned phone calls, returned emails, for the dryer to stop drying….I know I should’ve just started vacuuming, but…well, I started highlighting instead.
As I started mixing the concoction, I vaguely recalled a conversation one of my friends had with her sweetie. He wanted to color her hair for her, even promising to use the little strips of foil. Instead of being pleased by the offer, she was horrified. The only one who she could trust her hair was her stylist. In theory, I agreed with her. In reality I knew that going somewhere was too much hassle. You had to call and make an appointment. You had to wait for the appointment. Then you had to just sit there while they messed with the hair. You had to make chit chat about inane things. No, this was something I could just do myself while I was still in my jammies.
When I was pleased with the placement of my streaks (as they used to be called) I set my timer and got out that vacuum. Then the phone rang. (Dang, and I so wanted to vacuum!) Before I knew it, the timer had gone off and I was still on the phone. I knew it was bad when I rinsed out my hair and could see bright yellow streaks. It was worse than I thought. I looked like a skunk.
My first impulse was to grab a pair of scissors and hack the offending sections off. Thankfully, I came to my senses before that happened. Now my plan is to wait until the girls get home and see if they notice.
Sigh…I may end up seeing a hair stylist after all….