1. Come to the ill-founded conviction that a crumpled face will surely be rejuvenated ten years by colouring the grey hair sprouting from the top.
2. Read all hair-related horror stories, avidly, for months. Absorb the terror of each one, slowly.
I coloured my hair and died. My mother coloured her hair and she died. Hair colouring ate my face. Superhaircolour says they are sorry after face-death misery left children motherless.
3. Peer nervously into all retail outlets selling hair colour. Think, When I am desperate and going slightly mental, so maybe death will no longer matter, I will buy Colour My Hair the Silky Easy Way.
4. Stare enviously at other women. But they have coloured their hair! They are STILL ALIVE.
5. Reach a point on a Monday morning when life or death doesn't matter. Impulsively run out to buy Colour My Hair the Silky Easy Way.
6. Stare at box fearfully. It is a box of certain death. 200 sleeping tablets and a bottle of Whisky would be easier.
7. After six weeks, tentatively open box. Learn instructions by rote.
8. Ignore box for another two weeks. Plenty of time to prevaricate! Pray grey hair turns brown without assistance, and that crumpled face magically becomes age 20 again! Try and delude self with, I am so busy! I haven't had a moment!
9. Pluck up courage for skin allergy test. Dab fluid, awkwardly, on inside of elbow. (Rats, now I have to wear long sleeves because otherwise it looks like one of the children thumped me.)
10. Stare in horror as chemical foams on skin. Expect to die now in a severe allergic reaction. Grab children in terror. Scare them by whispering, slightly hysterically, Mummy loves you. You know, don't you? Feel the urge to confess. And it was me who ate the stash of chocolate Squirrel hid behind the bread bin.
11. Within 24 hours, forget about the patch test and wash arm. It is a shower! Who can wash with one arm sticking out the door?
12. Try the patch test again. This time, wash with one arm sticking out the door.
13. Decide it is impossible to prevent water dribbling between armpit and elbow. Stop to plan and think logically:
i. Colour hair when hairdressers are open. Thus, when severe allergic reaction kicks in, there is time to run screaming to them for an antidote.
ii. Colour hair not at rush hour, when A&E is accessible.
iii. Colour hair when another responsible adult is at home to call ambulance, lift body out of shower, assist medical staff in lowering corpse from window, console children, etc.
14. Decide on a day.
15. The day arrives. Drink a large glass of wine. It no longer matters that it is 9am.
16. Don plastic gloves and feel this course of action is as foolhardy as surgically removing your own liver.
17. Follow instructions sheet to the letter. Panic each time fluid touches scalp. Wait continuously for severe allergic reaction.
18. While waiting the 20 minutes development time, write Last Will and Testament. Sob a little in self-pity that life has come to this. A bottle of foaming fluid in a bathroom.
19. Emerge three hours later, having obsessively examined scalp from every angle, tugged at hair to feel if it is coming out, scrutinised arm for signs of severe allergic reaction.
20. Announce presence to dear husband and ask, How is my hair? Am I 20 years younger? Husband scrutinises head, as if looking for fleas, then says, Look round the back. You have missed a clump.
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1 comment:
You'll just have to color you hair one more time to get that missed clump of hair. It wasn't all that bad after all, was it? At least you're still alive and kicking. I'm sure you look wonderful and 20 years younger. I would tell you so if I saw you. Be brave and handle that bottle of foam again. XOX
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