Normal people's hair grows a quarter of an inch per month. Knowing that I had my color done just last month and now there's a considerable white line striping down the center of me like I'm some sort of Dolly Madison dessert, I decided to measure. How long was that white strip that was not here a month ago?
Half an inch. My hair grows twice as fast as regular people's. If my hair would grow out a lovely color, such as pink, this would be fantastic news. But it comes out white, like a vanilla frogurt dispenser, and it comes out faster than anyone else's.
If anyone wonders what to get me for Christmas, standing appointments at my colorist would be lovely. Apparently I need to go twice a week or something.
Ned said he had to stop at the grocery store yesterday to get "food," and by "food" Ned means "fruit," and I don't know about you, but that's never what I mean when I say "food." Mashed potatoes are food. Meat loaf is food. Fruit is not food.
But "food" he needed, so as Ned gathered up his Carmen Miranda hat, I schlepped over to the hair dye section to cover this strip. I was whiter than the line for free Moleskine notebooks at Lilith Fair.
I read that once in that Stuff White People Like blog, that white people love them the Moleskine notebooks, and it made me giggle because guess who owns four of those?
The PROBLEM is, and I know you're riveted by this whole dilemma, but the PROBLEM is they were sold out of my root dye color, which is light ash brown and features a woman on the box with questionable sexuality. She might be going through her college phase, if you're picking up what I'm throwing down.
I joined Ned back over at the the fruit, because it took Ned longer to select fruit than it did for me to figure out what I was gonna do about my roots. "They were out of my color. I picked this." I thrust a light golden brown box at Ned. The girl on that box was all men, all the time. She might even enjoy a good train pulled on her, this one.
"So, you're going for a darker look?" asked Ned, who I just taught about ombre hair, and how women are going about it terribly badly. Ombre roots are the dark lipliner of the 2010s.
"I'm not intentionally," I told him, "but they were out of my stuff."
So that's where we are right now, folks. The light golden brown is on, I'm in my 10-minute waiting period, and I'm writing to you. Soon I'll rinse it out and we'll see the tragedy that has befallen my rootage.
Wish me luck.
Darkly,
June
