It was something I always wanted to do. And I had run out of excuses, so I had no choice but to finally give in. I went red.
I’m not sure where this hidden desire to be a redhead came from. Maybe it’s from all those sayings I’ve heard about redheads being fiery and feisty. (And what girl doesn’t want to be a little fiery and feisty?)
So I bought a bottle of hair dye (going with a non-committal, “washes out in 28 shampoos” type), channeled my inner redhead (Lucille Ball? or maybe, more realistically, little orphan Annie?), and dyed my hair red.
Or should I say, I tried to dye my hair red. I think, more accurately, I dyed my towel red. And the shower, too, which looked strikingly similar to a scene from a horror flick, with drops of looks-just-like-blood dye running down the sides of the shower.
Amazingly, some of the dye actually clung to my usually-brown hair. And don’t get me wrong, the color was subtle. So subtle, that Husband suggested that we go outside so he could inspect it in the sunlight.
“Wait….turn your head a little….oh yeah, I think I see some red.”
I guess the more accurate synopsis of the whole event is: “I dyed my towel and shower red, leaving some very subtle glints of reddish tones in my hair.”
By the way, I’m not sure how they calculate that it lasts for “28 shampoos.” Were the test subjects actually using water and real shampoo each time?
I figure the red won’t last more than 2 more shampoos (yes, real shampoos with water and suds). I guess that leaves me with the memory of my somewhat reddish locks – and a once-white, pink towel.