I worked in the cosmetic industry for 3 years until I got my 'grown up' job. To this day, I am constantly trying new things on myself and others…whether it be a new hair color or a new cut or maybe just some different lip gloss, I am always changing. In December, my best friend Belinda asked me if I would come to work at a counter at the local mall during Christmas. I excepted and I continue my dip into vanity once a month. It keeps me in stock with free makeup and skin care and my grueling 3 hour shift is worth it. Last night I was working and I looked a mess. Like I've explained before, it's hot and us fat folks tend to melt. My friend Arnone was standing behind the counter watching me walk up. At first she was excited to see me because she was hungry and I had food in hand for her. She snatched the polish sausage still warm in the plastic container and begin to stuff her face. I walked to the other side of the counter and looked in the mirror. Lord help us all. How in the world was I suppose to sell makeup looking a mess? To top things off, Arnone took one look at me after the eating of the sausage and began to speak in the total hatred that only a real friend can pull off.
Arnone: "Amanda, your roots are horrible. There is absolutely NO excuse for that. You do your own hair. What is the problem? Seriously, that is over an inch of out growth."
Me: "Whatever Arnone, it's only because it's up and I'm sweaty. When it's down it's not that bad".
Arnone: "Well, you're right. It's not that bad…no wait, I can't lie, yes it is bad".
Me: "I was going to do it this weekend but I didn't have time".
Arnone: "You should to it when you get home because really Amanda, no excuse."
This prompted my immediate text to my boyfriend proclaiming that although it's very sweet of him to have dinner ready when I get home that I will be making a trip to Kroger for some dang hair dye. He graciously said that he will pick some up when he goes there to get groceries. Okay, so this sounds like a bad idea to everyone at the counter but I don't care because I need pretty hair. I can't be white trash any longer walking around with the root action.
My boyfriend calls me from the hair dying isle. He's naming a million names and products and I tell him to just pick one. I'm immediately stopped by another coworker and advised to choose a dark brown. I relay the info to Jonathan, and he says okay.
I go home, eat, and change clothes because as my mom's witness, I get this dye everywhere. Jonathan, being the chemist, inspects each and every item in the box and begins explaining to me how to color my hair. Now, I've colored my hair every color of the rainbow every 6 weeks since I was in the 8th grade but never once has their been so many neato items in a hair color box.
Jonathan: "This little tube goes on pre color. It's to protect your hair."
Me: "is this necessary?"
Jonathan: "well, it's the first step, just do it".
So I put on the gloves and then the protectant. It smells good and makes my hair kinda oily. Whatever. Step one is complete.
The rest is history folks, I apply the color and it immediately starts to turn. Yes the package says to leave on for 30 minutes but I know I'm way wicked smarter than the hair color folks so I just leave it on for 10.
It was a good thing. I hop out of the shower, very excited to blow dry my new hair. What's this? It looks a little black. No worries, it's still wet. Okay, now it's blow dried, it's still black. Maybe it's the light. I walk in the living room and Jonathan is lying on the couch reading organic chemistry (for fun…how cute).
Me: "Yup, gonna need some highlights"
Jonathan : "wow!!!!!!!! It's dark, looks kinda gothic".
Nice. I go into the bathroom and whip up a concoction of hair bleach and shampoo and wash my hair about 300 times. I turn the water in the bathtub blue and black and I think I scared Jonathan a little. Long story short, the washing allows for my hair to be lighter and today I'm proud to say that I actually like it. I am my natural color and I haven't been since the 8th grade.
It's also funny how men and women react to changes in another's hair. Women either love it or hate it, men just state the obvious. Every male that I work with said "oh, you dyed your hair. It's brown. I like it". While my women coworkers exclaimed "oh my gosh! Do you like it?". I promised myself that I'm giving it 2 days. After that if I need some highlights, they are a going in, but for now, I will continue to startle myself when I look in the mirror.