Warning: Profanity to ensue in 3, 2, …
Mother Fucking Shit Bags. I am so disgusted and royally pissed at this moment I may blow a gasket or pop an ovary or something equally ugly and messy. Today, was hair dying day.
In an effort to save cash and simplify, just before Halloween I decided to say goodbye to my blonde and welcome back my old faithful rich mahogany. It’s super easy to do. If I buy the good stuff from the salon suppliers I don’t kill my hair and it’s cheap. I can even afford to do it at the first sign of roots and never worry about dull gray hair again. Yay me.
So, I went to said supplier the day after Thanksgiving as they were selling some cute stuff for cheap I can put in the little diva’s stocking. I decided to stock up on some dye. The color adviser or whatever she is, pointed me in the direction of a new brand that really helps soften the grays blah blah blah. I picked from the color swatch thingies close to my normal color and grabbed a few bottles. (I don’t like to mix colors if I can avoid it.)
“Oh no, no, no,” she says. “You’ll want to go with a shade or two down because this takes so richly your hair will be practically black.”
“Are you sure?” I say. “I have far more gray than you would expect a woman of my age to have. My plump cheeks and baby face are quite deceptive.”
“Oh no! You really won’t want to go that dark with this brand in this formula. It is for the grays so it really takes.”
“Okay, you’re the expert. I trust you. But I will kill you if I look like a pin up girl when this is over.”
“Hahahaha. Oh no. It’ll be rich and lovely.”
“Fine. Give me three bottles and a metric shit ton of latex gloves. I love those things.”
… Skip forward to today. Hair dying day. I mixed the potion according to directions which happen to be the same ratios I’m used to so no biggie. I part and slather and part and slather. I work into a sweet little clump and calculate my time. Woah. That math was hard. It was 1:07 and I had to special ed math my way to 45 minutes later. Okay, great. Got it.
Then 50 minutes later, because I was busy finding my special “dye towel” reserved for this occasion, I began rinsing. Oh bitches no. This is not good. That water is R to the ED. There is no brown to be seen. There is no… oh no. There is just only red. Oh hell no. So I shower for a good long time rinsing and praying to the hair gods and biting my lip trying to hold back tears of what I know is sure to come.
I get out, wrap the towel around my head and sit with my head between my knees while I try to collect my shit. I am going to lose it. I don’t want to have freaky ass hair right now. I have to go volunteer for the PTO at school tonight. I can’t show up looking like Ronald fucking McDonald. This will not do.
Then Jimmie shows up. I still haven’t looked in the mirror. I take my towel off and he is all “HOLY SHIT.”
“Yah. uhhhahahhaha. I know. It’s gonna be bad huh?”
“Oh no, babe. I like it. It’s cool.
“Maybe just dry it and see.”
“Yah, because it always gets browner when it dries.”
So I dry. And I don’t cry. Because I’m a big girl. And I put product on. And I straighten.
AND I LOSE MY SHIT.
That two bit skanky ass little beauty school dropout lied and gave me some shit to make me look like a flunkie from a 90’s grunge band, that little WHORE.
If I were a stripper my name would be Black Cherry.
I will return to said store tomorrow and I will maim and destroy all in my path. But before I do, Ima go wander the streets of downtown Seattle and see if I can lure Eddie Vedder from his hideyhole. If anything will tempt the 90s god of love and sexiness I’m quite certain it’s my luscious locks.
But then, tomorrow it’s on, MUTHA BITCHES*!!!
And since you asked so nicely, here is a lovely photo depiction: