The title makes no sense. I get it. It’ll come clear later.
So, deciding to save some money on salon bills, I went to the pharmacy and picked up some Nice ‘n Easy to dye my hair. I haven’t dyed my own hair since I was 30 years old and gainfully employed. Looking back, I realize why.
So this is what happened:
I picked up the color that I thought matched my current hair color. Went home and dyed my hair. Okay, that’s the gist of it. Here’s what I learned (or forgotten):
- Don’t dye your hair in a sport bra to “save a t-shirt”
- Use gloves when washing your hair
- Check the back of your head before you’re “sure” you’re done
- Methodical application not willy-nilly squeeze-n-pray
Okay, so a few lessons learned. First off, I forgot how incredibly tedious dyeing my own hair is. It took a long time and I couldn’t just sit there and read a book. I had to do it all myself and my arms got sore and I was getting dye all over my face and my neck and my back. I freaked out thinking I’d completely dyed my shoulders and down my spine (later I realized it was just my tattoo – which one day I’ll get rid of, a story for another time).
Then I’m all, “Is it done yet? Did I squish it all over enough?” (The answer to that question, in hindsight, is a resounding NO.)
Then I look at the sink and it’s covered in purple. And the walls. And the floor. And the mirror. And now the cat is making his way towards the bathroom to see what’s what so I gotta slam the door on him lest I poison or dye him.
Finally, it’s time to wash this stuff out. The directions say to lather your hair before rinsing the dye out. I’m like, okay. I can do that. So I’m lathering up a storm, not realizing that my entire shower now looks like I got in a knife fight with an octopus. There’s purple ink all over the shower. I mean, if it was red dye, it would have looked like the pig blood scene from Carrie.
I’m shocked and appalled and thinking, “Oh crap! Ron is going to see this and fuh-reak out!!! So I sacrifice one of our towels and I’m frantically trying to wipe up the shower, oh hey, and there’s more dye spilling down my face and arms because I didn’t think to – oh, I don’t know – completely rinse it out before cleaning the shower? So that happened.
Finally, I get the shower clean-ish. There are still a few drip lines on the wall but I’m hoping he won’t notice (Or read this post.)
After that, it’s hurry up and wait to see how badly I messed it up. Not too bad. If I relegate myself to dark rooms. There’s patches of grey, the top doesn’t match the bottom, and I got a crash course in dying your fingernails, but at least I saved money. (Except that I’ll probably have to go to the salon next week to get it fixed.)
All in all…hair is free and regardless of what I keep doing to it, it keeps growing back, so all this will be but an amusing cautionary tale my husband warns me about when next I decide to dye it myself.
I do still have that second box…
(And, no, I’m not posting a picture.)