When Lindsay was still living at home, we decided one weekend she and I thought we'd save some money and buy over the counter hair colour. My husband has always been a frustrated Vidal Sassoon, so he was game to give it a go. I don't know whether it was poor judgement, a bad memory or just that I'm on the cheap side, but what the hell was I thinking? If only I had heeded my own advice and remembered the infamous clipper episode, and the fact that Rob has a penchant for not following instructions, I might have saved both of us a lot of grief.
Lindsay went first, the multi-coloured streaks (pink, blue, purple and some kind of green colour) that she'd had applied professionally a while ago had long since faded and she wanted them covered up. For me, it was just to disguise the one or two grey hairs I had noticed sprouting. Lindsay is sitting there, some of her hair turning a nice shade of orange - not exactly what she had been expecting - while Rob was working on me. Then I hear those dreaded words "Uh-oh this doesn't look good". Not something you want to hear on a good day, never mind when you're at the mercy of a vengeful husband with a bottle of hair dye. Fearing the worst, I asked what the problem was. Apparently, my scalp had turned a particularly vibrant shade of pink. We are not talking a pleasant rosy hue here, this is Lady Gaga shade of pink. I am not one to be fazed lightly, but this was a bit disconcerting. Grady of course was fascinated and I can always rely on him to put it into perspective "Oh cool mum ! It looks like your brains are bleeding out through your scalp". OK now I'm fazed.
Lindsay, having gotten over the trauma of orange hair is having a good chuckle at my expense. Her laughter soon turned to tears however, when her father pipes up "Oh dear. I guess I should really have read the instructions a little more carefully." I thought he was joking, but no, he was serious and held up two unopened sachets marked "Step 1" as proof. That is when things turned ugly. "You bloody idiot" I screeched grabbing up the box. "It says right on here on the package 3 STEPS. Count them 1-2-3. How the hell did you miss one?" Rob in a vain attempt to mitigate the damages, brushed right over it. "I'm sure it wasn't important" he said hopefully. Not important ! Lindsay's hair (which should have been dark golden brown) is now black and my scalp is magenta and he thinks it wasn't important.
At least I am still talking to my husband, which is more than you can say for Lindsay, who is giving her father a very definite cold shoulder. I didn't quite catch what she muttered to him under her breath, which is probably just as well. However, if I wake up in the morning with no hair, all bets are off and there will be hell to pay.
Oh and a note to Alison, (I know you are reading this and laughing out loud) who is our incredibly patient & long suffering - PROFESSIONAL - hair stylist, we'll be in touch very soon.
For someone - my husband - who should be sleeping with one eye open, he is not ingratiating himself by snickering at the fact I said I had only one or two grey hairs. My blog. My rules. The sooner he realises that the happier he'll be.
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