Very Short Stories

Some Folks Age Gracefully

Some folks age gracefully.

I am not one of those people.

Tonight I took one look in the mirror and realized that the gray hairs I was seeing could no longer be confused with gentle highlights.

Now some folks look great with gray sprinkled through their hair.

I am not one of those people.

I grabbed my keys, jumped in the truck and headed straight to the nearest store.

It was time to fool mother nature and paint the “highlights” any dang color I please.

Do you have any idea how many shades of brown there are?

I assumed I was looking for either medium brown or dark brown. It did not take more than a few moments to realize how seriously mistaken I was. How in the heck can there be 22 shades a brown? Isn’t there one that is just plain Jane brown?

Add that to figuring out just how permanent you want this new color to be, and it is no wonder women spend hours in the hair care aisle. Just how permanent can hair color be?

If I trim my hair every six weeks, doesn’t than mean that EVENTUALLY the color will be gone?

Nevertheless, I am just not brave enough to try anything with the word permanent in it. I want something that will disappear in 24 washes or less.

Does this mean if I despise the results I can wash my hair 24 times the same night and go back to the gentle gray highlights?

Finally I get home with my coveted box of youth. With much help from Haley comparing my hair with every box on the shelf, we come to the conclusion that my hair must be light chestnut brown.

As I begin reading all of the warnings, I am wondering if the gentle highlighted grey hair is preferable to what may be a risk of all of my hair falling out or my scalp being burned. Determined to regain the hair color of my youth I continue.

Why is it that the commercials show a woman smiling through this process and experiencing pure bliss, while I am busy trying to figure out how women put this stuff in their hair, but not on the walls and ceiling? I am also seriously concerned about the fact that the box swears this stuff will wash back out, but not even pure bleach is getting the dribbles off the counter.

There should be a warning on the box that you should not even consider looking in the mirror during the processing time. All of the sudden serious panic overwhelms me as the color I am seeing in the mirror doesn’t look anything like the box. How is it that light chestnut brown has now turned jet black on my hair?

Any sane woman immediately begins to pray and furiously scrub this smelly chit back out of her hair.

Why on earth am I putting myself through this?

What was I thinking?

After washing my hair 12 of the 24 times, I realize that this stuff is not getting any lighter. As I glance at the bleach, momentarily contemplating the risk, I become very aware of why they warn the women that their hair may fall out. Obviously there is something in these fumes that drives women near pure stupidity.

Thankfully, I realize that household bleach is not a likely solution and I instead begin planning how I will make room in the bathroom for my computer because I am NOT coming out of this bathroom until my hair has returned to normal.

Hoping beyond hope that blow drying my hair will somehow make even a slight difference, I spend the next 30 minutes standing on a wet towel while holding electricity in my hand. Obviously I have lost all sense of reason.

Finally I get the courage to open my eyes and peek in the mirror.


It really does look like the color on the box!


What took me so long to decide to do this?

What I really want to know is if it is this traumatic every time?

If I used 12 of my 24 washes up already, does that mean I am going to go through this all again in less than two weeks?

Maybe next time I will leave this process to the pros while keeping my back safely to the mirror during the entire process.

I need to make a pot of coffee.

This new experience has left me exhausted!

Thanks For Being A Part Of My Life!

Cricket Walker

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