Long ago about a month after birthing my son, Boden, I decided that I would like to see what the natural color of my hair is. It had been 15 years of hair coloring and I did not recall my natural shade of brown. Frankly, after months of sleep deprivation I felt a bit lazy and decided to boycott coloring my hair.
My natural color is not a bad shade of brown and I never detected any aging greys until the direct sunlight and mirror. It really put a frightening kick in my butt from my Britney fantasy. I immediately went to the grocery store (we're out of milk and some other things) and bought a box of hair color.
Boden and I decided on this lovely shade of brown. L'Oreal has such good marketing with picking so many pretty women. This chick on the box seems sassy enough and her hair is cute. She has bangs like me. Yup, I'm taking her home.
Boden went down for a nap which gave me time to begin the dye process with complete concentration. I gave the directions a glance over, mixed the dye, slipped the rubber gloves on, and coated my virgin hair with care and a little bit of sorrow. I'm not sure if I was more disappointed that I'm succumbing to age or the fact that I will again have to spend more money on hair dye.
Have you ever had an idea that if you did a certain thing differently from the directions that perhaps it would be so profound that it would merit a patent or great award? These ideas usually end in life lessons. So, my 25 minutes were up and I hopped i
n the shower to get the dye out and get one step closer to the TAH DAH reveal. If you've never dyed your hair yourself, you first have to add a little water and kind of shampoo the dye and then rinse. To my horror my virgin hair felt like pine straw. So, I shampooed and then grabbed the conditioner that comes with the dye. It is the size of a tube of Crest. I was like an EMT reacting to a car accident victim... don't think.... must save the hair! I realized that I had a golf ball sized amount of conditioner in my hand and proceeded to slather it into my hair. Surely, the tube's directions were wrong. Dime sized won't fix this! It was then that I realized that this SFM (Southern Fried Mother) would actually look like I dipped my head into a vat of peanut oil. The hot water couldn't last long enough to get all the conditioner out of my hair. I knew I would also have to scrub the tub now that it was a slip hazard.
Frightened now that I would have hair that looked like I was one of the last contestants of survivor, I dried my hair. Whew! It turns out most of the conditioner came out and I just had some extra shine.
Yup, I look just like that Preference girl. See what happens when pretending that you are Britney Spears...