THE STORY BEHIND THE BLONDE HAIR

It all came about early one morning while I was brushing my teeth. I turned off my sonicare toothbrush as soon as I saw them. Yup, there they were, right on the top of my head by my part, three silver hairs, proclaiming their existence by glistening in the sunlight pouring in on them from the window.

"Good God, no!" thought I. "I will not tolerate this!"

I quickly put on some clothes, jumped into my car and raced to Wal-Mart. I found the aisle with the hair coloring kits and chose a shade as similar to my natural color (medium to dark brown) as I could find, slinked to the checkout counter hoping nobody I knew would see me buying hair dye.

On the way home, I passed the local Sally's Beauty Supply store. The alpha beams entered my brain and I had one of those spontaneous, seemingly brilliant thoughts that always backfire.

"I need to strip my hair!"

For those who don't know, stripping is when you add a potent chemical to your hair that pulls out all the color. It's also known as bleaching. And, I now know, this is something that should always be left to the ptofessionals. Hind sight is truly twenty twenty, isn't it?

Fast forward about ten minutes and I am again in my bathroom reading directions on the bottle of the hair stripping chemicals. I can do this! I have such a false sense of confidence over something of which I know nothing! What total conceit!

Fast forward another hour. My hair is rinsed of the chemical and it has worked. Sort of. My hair is no longer medium brown. It is orange. Worse yet, it is neon orange.

Ohhh Nooo! What to do? I know! I need to go back to Sally's Beauty Supply store and get more stripping chemicals! I try to act blase while walking into the store, as if neon pumpkin orange hair is the most gorgeous color in the world. I pick up another bottle of the stuff I came for and wonder if I should get a gallon of it. Just in case. No, I'm going to be positive about this. I am going to strip my hair again and trust it will be perfect.

Again, we fast forward an hour. Mission accomplished. The orange is gone. I now have pink hair. Sweet. Real sweet, to be honest, because it now look like I've plastered flamingo pink cotton candy on my head.

As luck has it, my beautiful daughter, Shannon (the one with the perfectly colored hair, yep that's the one..) comes into the bathroom. She is doubled over laughing at me.

"Ma! Hahahahaa!! What were you thinking! Haahahahaahhaa!!"

Yeah, real funny, kid.

Shannon phones her stylist who happens to also be a color specialist. We make an appointment and I wait in tears until the time comes to get this mess fixed.

Jaime, the specialist, takes one look at my hair and I see the corners of her mouth twitch. She is trying not to laugh. The corners of my moiuth also twitch. I am trying not to cry.

Now, let me tell you, I had hair almost to my waist. I have always considered my hair to be my pride and joy, right behind...and just barely behind...having my children.

"You've totally ruined your hair." sez Jaime as she reaches for her scissors. The corners of my mouth are no longer merely twitching. I have now succumbed to a complete melt down and I am fully focused on not wailing out loud in the crowded salon.

As she crops my hair to my shoulders, she asks, "What color should we go?"

I need something to make me feel attractive again because I certainly did not feel attractive with pink hair.

"Blonde!" I say. "If I only have one life, let me live it asa blonde!!"

A couple hours later I walk out of the salon with shoulder length blonde hair.


Living life as a blonde for the last couple years has been a delightful experience. I have loved it! But I have recently become bored with it. So last week I went back to my natural color. My hair is mid way down my back and, since I faithfully see Jaime every six weeks, there asre no little wiry wilver hairs doing a mocking sun salutation on my head. I look like ME again!

And I am happy.