TWEET-TWEET
Okay I’ll admit it. I’m vain. But not unnecessarily so. Does that make sense?
The past few months I’ve been to New York and to Seattle a
couple times. Like many of you, when traveling I haul my camera around.
(Everyone wants memories.) I love digital cameras because I can delete my
double-chin, large-butt or gapping-mouth, gawd-awful photos immediately.
Needless to say, my daughter called me giggling this
morning. On the way to kindergarten, my grandson asked. “Why does grandma wear
that gray in her hair?” (Personally, I do not see any humor in that question.)
Plopping down in front of my computer, I click on the
‘Vacation’ file. I review all the snapshots.
I study the handful of pictures taken of me that I had not erased. Charlie is
right! My hair has a silver streak in front like…like…Bonnie Raitt. (And trust
me, I can’t sing.)
After much fretting over what to do, I zip to one of those
super-stores to purchase a do-it-yourself hair dye kit. Have no fear. At one
time, I managed a Day Spa. I know the beauty shop talk and can walk the walk. Therefore, when I’m looking at the hair color
selections I give myself a reality check.
My driver’s license says I’m a blue-eyed blonde-haired
woman. However, it also says I weigh 116 pounds, and we all know that ain’t
true. My hair is really more of a
dishwater-blond. Okay, maybe now that I’m older it’s light brown. (Can’t a girl
get away with anything?)
Totally relaxed I purchase a shade that will turn my
light-brown hair into a nice burnt-caramel-blonde color. I’m happy with the decision and scoot on home
to wash that gray right outa-my-hair.
Twenty-five processing minutes later and a quick rinse in
the shower, I wipe the steam off the bathroom mirror.
The good news: The gray is gone. Way cool.
The bad news: The color did not turn out the shade I wanted. Oh hell, I look like Tweedy Birds’ momma!
