It’s Just Hair

 

 

About four years ago I let one of my stepsisters talk me into “going platinum.” She said being a blonde would make me look and feel hot, young, and stylish.

I was in a bit of a funk at the time and needed a change. I thought a new ‘do might just do the trick.

The problem was, I chose to let the sweet little old lady at the local Curl Up and Dye have a whack at it while she was trimming my daughter’s hair. This happens to me a lot; I have impulse control issues. I once let a man named “Rangoon Ricky” attempt to remove one of my tattoos with a wood burning kit and some watered down kerosene…in between sets at an outdoor Van Morrison concert.

Anyway, my daughter’s one-eyed septuagenarian barber, Betty Lou, told me that my hair was too dark and coarse to go platinum and that I should just do a lot of chunky highlights in two different colors.

Fine, I thought. It’s just hair.

Two hours later, I looked like someone had erected a circus tent on my head.

When I got home, my toddler took one look at me and started to cry.

“Call her back and make her fix it!” my oldest child pleaded.

So I called Betty Lou and begged for a do-over.

She had me come right back (lots of openings in her schedule, go figure). She said an all-over toner would make the highlights blend in better with my base color.

Two more hours later, I looked like I had a brass spittoon on my head.

It was better than the circus tent stripes though, so I went home again and called my sister-in-law Tina, who is a licensed cosmetologist in Michigan.

Tina warned that I should NOT attempt to fix it myself with a home color kit. She suggested I call the best salon in town and book an appointment with their senior colorist. “Ask for someone who has a lot of experience doing color correction.”

And that’s how I found Robért four years ago.

But stylists are only human and it turns out that even senior colorists make mistakes from time to time. If you’ve seen me recently, you know what I mean.

It’s just hair. It will grow out.

As an added bonus, I’ve finally amassed enough experience to formulate a handy-dandy hairstylist to client translator:

“I can probably squeeze you in between two other clients.” = “You will not get my undivided attention and you will walk out of here looking like it.”

“It will look better in natural light.” = “Oh shit. What have I done?”

See also:

“It will fade.” = “I forgot to set the timer and it looks like someone rubbed shoe polish on your head.”

“Would you like your tires rotated while you’re under the dryer?” = “My name is Bob, not Robért. This isn’t a hair salon, lady, and that’s not a hair dryer. Please don’t make me call the police again.”

 

 

Leslie Marinelli is a writer, wife, mother of three, toilet humor aficionada, and transplanted Pittsburgher trapped in the suburbs of Atlanta. She’s a weekly columnist and the Editor-in-Chief of In The Powder Room, as well as the creative force behind the award winning blog, The Bearded Iris: A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All. Leslie enjoys writing in the third person as much as she likes finding hair in her food and getting episiotomies. You can connect with her on , , and as . This piece was originally published on In The Powder Room and was reposted with permission.