- How Ginny Failed to Color Her Hair Today
-

reallyginnyf
- March 27th, 10:57
New profile pic, see? Isn't my hair looking light, as in light colored? That's not a dye job or a mid-life bid to suddenly go blonde; that is GREY HAIR. What started as a little skunky patch on my left temple has blossomed and spread and now I have grey patches and silvery threads all through my once dark brown hair. I shouldn't worry about it, I know. After all, I have an "Aging Gracefully" Pinterest board with pictures of the beautiful grey-haired ladies I so admire. The problem is, I have a young-looking face. I'm not bragging and I don't do anything extraordinary to keep it that way, it's just how my face looks. It's a combination of good genetics, leaving my face the hell alone except for Cetaphil, avoiding the sun (daylight, hsssss!) and some extra pounds which keep my face plump enough to avoid lines.
So here's where I'm at lately:
I just turned forty-four and I'm feeling my mortality for some reason. Forty was no biggie. Forty-four rocked me back enough that I actually went out drinking with some similarly middle-aged friends to "celebrate." Not doing that again or if I do I'm sticking to water, enough said about THAT.
I have the physique of a woman who loves to eat, hates to exercise and had her first baby at midlife when her metabolism was grinding to a halt. I've accepted it. Whatever.
I have a baby face, babyish enough that my elementary school teachers who are not senile still recognize me on the street.
And now I have lots of grey hair.
I'm never getting back my trim 20-something body. Yes, I could do something about it like exercise or radically alter my eating habits but I'm not gonna. My face is still youthful and hopefully will be for another five or six years until I reach the Age of Invisibility, then I won't care. My grey hair is another matter. I can color that, right? Any idiot can color her hair. I contemplated having it done in a salon but those shampoo bowls make me pass out. Never mind that I might have a panic attack in the middle of processing and run back home with the color half finished. Jamie, who's been doing my hair for ten years, was completely honest with me: "You know I love you, Gin, but if you leave in the middle of a color job, I will KILL YOU."
So I bought hair color the other day. Natural Dark Brown with enhanced grey coverage. I made all the preparations this morning, laid out the instructions, the supplies, the gloves, a timer, a towel to protect my clothes and a magazine to read during processing time. I didn't do a strand test. Strand tests are for pussies. If the color makes my head swell up, I'll deal with it then. I donned the gloves, mixed up my color like a boss and started applying it. Like a boss.
"Hm," I thought. "This is certainly a very light color to be Natural Dark Brown."
I dropped a blob on the floor because I am so graceful.
"Hm," I thought. "I wonder why it isn't turning our linoleum an instant shade of brown?"
I slopped a bunch down the front of the towel I was using to protect my clothes. Again because I am so graceful.
"Hm," I thought. "I wonder why the towel is still it's normal shade of blue and not splotchy brown-blue?"
I gave it no more thought, squeezed every last drop out of the applicator, gathered all my hair up on top of my head, set the timer, then decided I'd better put the tube of deep conditioner in the shower so I wouldn't forget it. The tube of deep conditioner so handily labeled "3A" in gigantic print. The very tube of deep conditioner I'd squeezed into the applicator and applied all over my head. The tube of hair color, labeled "2A" in gigantic print was sitting untouched at the side of the sink.
Damn it. After twenty minutes of effort, all I accomplished was conditioning my still-grey hair into OBLIVION.
I'm taking it as a sign from the Universe that I should accept the aging process, accept imperfection, accept the inexorable passing of time and the waning of youth. Either that, or it's a sign from the Universe that I'm an incurable dork. Thanks, Universe. I think I knew that already.