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May 02, 2005
I Have Seen Middle Age...
...and it is me. Oh. God. My tarty blonde locks no longer beach babe bleach out unaided, as grey is it's own stubborn shade, resistant to change. Unamenable to subtle shifts of seasons, from the darkened winter shades of Valhalla to the shimmer of platinum at Newport Beach. It just stays grey. Touch-Up = 'Just do the roots for 40 minutes'. A horrific, nauseating realization came upon me as I busted open the box of chemicals, dragged the noxious pudding through my hair and looked in the mirror, focusing by mistake on my head vice those careful rows scraped across my scalp.
I am become Don and he is become me.
Posted by tree hugging sister at May 2, 2005 03:24 PM
Comments
hahahahahahaha
oh shit, how am I gonna clean the monitor now?
Posted by: Mr. Bingley at May 2, 2005 03:29 PM
Just as well I couldn't be there Friday. I would have been taunted.
Posted by: tree hugging sister at May 2, 2005 04:19 PM
Only in America!
Posted by: Mr. Bingley at May 2, 2005 04:23 PM
Nah, I don't believe it. Remember, snookums, you're only as old as those you feel.
Posted by: Ken Summers at May 2, 2005 09:07 PM
You're not old, just wise. We still love you. Dunno 'bout the hair, tho.....
Posted by: Crusader at May 3, 2005 07:06 AM
Well, thank you all for the lovely affirmations of my continued vitality. The truth is, I wasn't actually complaining of feeling aged, just reflecting on the changes said age inflicts. (Although I would do almost anything for Mr. Summers to call me snookums again. Oooooh. Guilty shiver when I think of it...)
For those unfamiliar with hair chemicals in the blonde family, a primer. When one mixes bottle A with the color in bottle B, one initially gets lovely color C. It is then careful squoozed out along thin rows carved on your scalp by said bottle tip. Leaving a sandy colored muck next to your head, bottle B continues loading the roots, leaving dry strands of hair that eventually reach skyward like Frankenstein's Bride. The resemblance to ringmeister King happened as lovely color C turned a revolting purple French blue grey as it completed it's magic. Like the Gerber cooked plums you try to force down Jr.'s throat at a certain age. And after he's rejected them.
I'm better now. The color's lovely.
Posted by: tree hugging sister at May 3, 2005 12:11 PM
Is it a coincidence? As a child, I had a cat named Snookums..........
Posted by: The Real JeffS at May 3, 2005 12:14 PM
Ah yes, the travails of home hair coloring. The one advantage you have, Sis, of being a natural blonde is that the grey isn't all that evident. As for me, I will give up all booze for a month in order to afford my wonderful professional colorist. She is a Korean who married a US army engineer. Her pithy summary of the roots (so to speak) of anti-Americanism? "Jealousy."
Posted by: NJ Sue at May 4, 2005 08:23 PM
Bwahahahaha, darlin' SIL! And I should probably break down and ask a pro, as my stylist pointed out the tiger stripes I had going when she cut my hair Wednesday. Man, I'm a mess. (but I NEVER said I was paTHEtic, Dave, OKAY? huh??)
Jeez.
Posted by: tree hugging sister at May 6, 2005 12:35 PM