Feel like I’ve ‘dyed’ and gone to heaven!
Yesterday, I made a spur of the moment decision, with the nudging of some very encouraging salonettes, to wash that grey, downtrodden, despairing soul right out of my hair. After a lifetime of trying to please ‘the others,’ I finally did something just for me. How selfish is that!
You probably wonder why I’m making such a fuss about adding a few honey-coloured highlights to my hair. The thing is, you’re hearing from a virgin in the realm of body detailing (I said detailing, stop laughing about me & the ‘v’ word). This mid-century modern vintage bod has no piercings, no tatts and, up until yesterday, original blonde locks faded over the last decade to a rather boring shade of dead ash. So, yes, getting a dye job was a big deal.
Inspiration was rampant among the scissor hands. “You’ll love it!” they said. “Go darker,” one suggested. “Add some purple highlights for fun,” chimed in another.
“My natural colour is blonde,” said I, “that’s as wild as I get.”
So, off to ‘the back room,’ where I’m tressed up in foil packets and left to cook for awhile in my own second thoughts. Across the room, another stylist, with a cool, multi-coloured coif, is busy shampooing a client and saying, “I tell all my people, don’t worry, it’s only colour. If you don’t like it, you can change it in a couple of years.”
Hmmm… that’s what I used to tell customers, when I owned a paint store. Except, not the waiting for 2 years part.
Looking in the mirror with trepidation, I considered the implications, then did what any self-respecting, middle-aged (?) Mummsy would do. I took a selfie of my tin-wrapped head gear and texted it to my fearless kids – who are all married, some with children, and have been bugging me to do this for ages.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! times 3 was the reply. Send ‘after’ pics!
Nothing like an ego-bolstering from the loved ones. Through the looking glass, I saw the makings of an impish grin. A throwback to that free-spirit I once was and thought had been lost; discarded along with the marriage by Tyrannosaurus Ex. Maybe, she was still there, only hiding…
“It’s time,” said Betty-not-my-name, a gorgeous dark-haired Indian beauty who’d forgotten to ‘switch’ the other girl’s name card at the work station). She led me to a different chair, backing onto a sink, for the unwrapping, followed by a lovely, scalp-massaging shampoo that took every bit of concern and sent it swirling down the drain. Byeeeee…
Next, it was out to the public forum – the bright light of day shining through wall-to-wall windows, as seated next-in-lines surveyed my ‘do.’ I couldn’t look. I sat in the chair, eyes down, while Not-Betty covered me in a fresh cape and started to trim. “You look beautiful,” she said. Of course, what else would she say? At least it wasn’t “Oh no, I’m so sorry!”
At this point, the suspense was getting the best of me. Since I hadn’t heard any giggles or shrieks from the cheap seats, I dared a sneak peek and… Wow. “Who is that?” I laughed. Apparently, lightening the hair goes hand-in-hand with a lighter heart. I was, and still am, totally amazed at how a small physical change can give such an immediate emotional boost. Nothing vain about it, this was simply magical.
I walked out of the salon door that morning, a new me. Or perhaps a newer version of the long-lost me. Whatever, losing my hair-colour virginity was a fabulous experience. And while there are no plans in the near future for body piercing or ink, there is still that ‘Gas Pump Virgin’ title to deal with… Who knows, maybe there’s a chivalrous, handsome adventurer out there who wouldn’t mind giving lessons. It remains to be seen… do blondes really have more fun?