From Frumpy to, um, Not So Frumpy
So for over a decade (yes, that means my late 20s) I've been colouring my own hair. And I've generally stuck to the same product and generally to the same family of hair colours. That is, until the past few months. Something deep inside made me think, "Oh, that's on sale, let's try that colour." And then 4 weeks later I'd see a DIFFERENT colour and think, "Oh, that's on sale, let's try that. Maybe it would do a better job on the gray." And then, maybe a few weeks later I'd have the same conversation with myself, in the hair dye aisle at whatever store I happened to be in. Bad, BAD idea.
I'm gonna throw this out there. I HATE wasting time on doing my hair. And so I often procrastinate. No surprise there. So this week was the week to FINALLY dye my hair. But as I looked at it in the mirror I noticed various and sundry colours and I got the bright idea to remove all the different colours and start brand spankin' new with one colour, and then committing to ONLY buying that colour. I promised myself. Seemed like a good plan to me. Seemed to make sense. Seemed like it.
So last night, "Operation Remove ALL Hair Colours" commenced. Again, still seeming like a great idea to me.
Hmmm. Ya, let's just say that orange probably isn't the best colour for me. And then mix in LOTS of gray, and blonde, and light brown and dark brown and my head was basically a walking color wheel. {Maddie's first words to me this morning: "Mommy, I LOVE your hair. It's got like 6 colours in it. It's so pretty.} Ya, I really wasn't going for the 6-colour-look.
{It's okay. You're allowed to gasp out loud after seeing above photos.}
And it was simply too late to abort "Operation Remove ALL Hair Colours" covert assignment. I was stuck with a multi-coloured, long-frumpy-shapeless-mop.
Enter friends.
This week at church is Vacation Bible School (VBS) and so when I arrived, completely embarrassed and mortified, my friends jumped in to help. I mean, cell phone calls to former hair dressers, stopping people in the parking lot that seemed to have similar thick hair with curls to see who does their hair, trying to solve the problem with the help of Walgreens. I mean, if there's a problem, put half a dozen women on it and it'll get fixed. Pronto.
And in walks Ann-Marie. And this is where I say my standard line; It's not WHAT you know, it's WHO you know. And Ann-Marie has a family member who just so happens to be a colour specialist at a great salon and spa. Who knew? Ann-Marie did. And so, she made some calls and before I knew it, I was lined up to go in at 4pm today.
To fix the mission-gone-sour "Operation Remove ALL Hair Colours".
So let me paint a bit of a picture for you. This was NO "Hair Cuttery" {not to slam that place in case anyone reading this works there or goes there}. But if you can read between the lines, this place was NICE. Exposed brick. Fancy stations. Generally de.light.ful, ya know.
And so I slooped in, feeling SO embarrassed about the state of my hair {I can't remember the last time I've gotten it cut - seriously, maybe a year ago. Tsk. tsk. So not only was the COLOUR the issue, the BAD, BAD split ends and general shape of my hair also contributed to the walk of shame to the elevated chair.}
And so they sat me down in the front chair, just right there for EVERYONE to see. I felt like they were all thinking, "What do we have HERE?" Mercy. Every so often I'd see another hair dresser wander by, seemingly on a task to find something but I swear they were just using the excuse to come up front to look at the orange-haired freak show at the first station. But that was probably just me, feeling TOTALLY self-conscious. COMPLETELY SELF-CONSCIOUS. Ya, that was it.
Enter Tara. She was amazing. Professional. Knew her stuff. And before long she was mixing up her hair potion and pasting it all over my head. You remember, the orange-gray-white-light-and-dark-brown head. Ya, that head.
Then enters Monica. She cut my hair. Who knew that it was two separate people. One for colour. One for cut. Not me, until today. I think that tells you how long it's been since I've had my hair done at a nice place. {And all my friends are shaking their heads wondering how they've managed to fail me in this department of my life. I mean, really. Shame on you all.} And Monica. Oh my. She knew her stuff. She layered. She thinned. She blew it dry and before long I was looking like this:
No way. I mean, that's ME. What a treat today was. I felt pampered. I felt loved on by my friends wanting to help in a moment of crisis. I felt so good about myself when I walked out the door of the salon. I think I had an extra zippity-do-dah in my step.It seemed like I would forever be orange-headed, but with help from sweet friends, what started out as frumpy turned out not so frumpy!
{And a very HUGE shout out to Tara and Monica. Both of whom deserve a big fat raise for rescuing my hair. I'm pretty sure my hair is the worst they've ever seen!}