Did I mention that I’m no longer a redhead?
Well. Let me take care of that right now.
Wait. I guess I just did.
But let me explain first.
Last Saturday, a hairdresser flew into town to do hair (they do this on a regular basis, and if you lived in the bush with no hair salon, you would appreciate it too), and I was her second appt.
Well let me back up here. She flew in on Thursday with the intention of doing everyone’s hair until Saturday morning. But all of her supplies were bumped. It’s fire season and anyone’s luggage can be bumped off the flight if it means that important supplies need to be flown in. Which kind of sucks. But oh well. Then Friday came and it was bumped again. Then Saturday morning and once again, no supplies. They finally flew in an afternoon flight so that all the people whose luggage was bumped wouldn’t burn down the terminal of this particular airline. She decided to fly out on Monday morning. So, after re-scheduling appts, she asked me if I would like a late appt, say 8:00pm on Saturday night? For my hair? You better believe it.
That’s neither here nor there but I just HAD to tell you that story because honestly. Bumped three times? With a reservation? Just ridiculous.
So, before she started on my hair, she mixed my color and showed me the bottle (we’d had a phone consultation while she was in the supply store the week before). It looked exactly like what I always use on my hair.
But after ten minutes, she looked worried and said “We should probably go ahead and rinse your hair, it’s really soaking up the color.” Not really worried, we went to the sink and rinsed. Being we had to use the industrial sink of the Bed and Breakfast, I was bent over, which also meant, I could see the color of my hair. And it was dark. Very dark.
I started to worry. So did she. In fact, I think she was on the verge of tears.
I wrapped the towel around my head while she finished a haircut for a customer. I avoided looking in the mirror. Finally, she unwrapped my head. My hair looked black. I nearly fainted but tried to keep my composure. (I had a really bad experience with black hair dye a long time ago, and it was something I deeply regretted) She went ahead and cut it because my hair was screaming to be trimmed. Then she began to dry it and style it. And it was much lighter dry than when it was dark. It was the color of milk chocolate, with some red undertones. Which is, if anyone remembers me before I started religiously dying my hair, pretty much my natural color. And oddly enough? I started to really like it. It was almost like a reverse dye job. Like she’d dyed my hair to match my roots instead of vice versa. It’s been over 13 years since I’ve been my natural color. And I realized how much I missed it. She styled it and kept apologizing even though I was trying to convince her that I really did like it. She was finally convinced when another customer walked in and gasped, then told me, I looked “stunning!” “Why did you ever dye your hair red?” the woman asked. “I guess I hated my natural color, and got so used to being a redhead.” I replied. “Well you look beautiful dear, I hope you’ll stay natural.”
It took Howard about 10 seconds to pop his eyeballs back in his head and shut his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to make of it when I walked through the door. I started dying my hair right after we moved in together. Which was over 13 years ago. He’s always been married to the girl with red hair. “You look so different…I just need some time to adjust.”
I was hurt. I was hoping for a different reaction. But before we went to bed, he told me my new color was very “becoming” and he was shocked because of “how young” it made me look. He got some that night.
So, the red hair is gone except for the lowlights that shine when I’m out in the sun. I feel like I found an old friend. I’m still getting used to looking in the mirror. And I did have one person tell me that they liked the red better because it brought out my blue eyes. But you know what? I like it and that’s all that matters.