I bit the bullet and decided to color my hair today. What, what, you say?? She colors her hair??? I thought she was a nat– Oh, wait a minute. I already did that. Okay, so yes I do. And I have done so most of my life. And it’s all because of Gregor Mendel. You may remember him from high school No, not personally, but we all had to learn about him in science. Mendel is considered the father of modern genetics. You see, when you combine a mother who had black hair and a father who had platinum blonde hair, Mendel decreed the daughter would come out with hair the color of dried-up peanut butter. Not fresh, creamy peanut butter, but the stuff that fell behind the toaster oven and you didn’t find until a week later. The natural color of my hair is all his fault.
But back to today. I bit the bullet, as I say, and after over two months of the sunshine growing out to reveal salt and pepper roots, I knew it was time to do something. Now I used to do my own hair all the time. That was back in my salad days. Now that I’m in my peanut butter behind the toaster oven days, I’ve been having the wonderful Trisha Greenwood, hairdresser supreme, do it. But we’re all sheltering, my roots are growing, and I had to do something. Even Ellie, the cat, was appalled.
I was super careful and did not leave handprints on the wall or drops of dye on the floor or towel like I did the last time. It didn’t’ turn pink or orange or blue, thank gawd, even though those colors are totally acceptable these days. I’m sure I missed some spots in the back, but I can’t see them, so who cares? In short I did the job. And I hated every minute of it. I am a spoiled brat who can’t wait to go back to the small one-on-one salon, sit there while someone who knows her stuff does all the work. I can read a book, chat, relax, and I still come out looking great.
Those were the days, my friends.