So I went down to the local dollar store, affectionately called The Duck in our house, to pick me up some of that hair dye. You see, I have what I believe to be an excess of sparkley (you may say grey, it's alright) hair growing on my head. And I am much, much, much too young for that sort of stamp on myself.
This is the exact science behind my hair color: lowest price. And also some kind of brown-based color. Well when I took myself on down to the Duck, the cheapest color was VERY cheap, but it was not very brown. It was more of a burgundy color. It was even called burgundy. I squinted real hard, and it sort of looked like there might be, kinda maybe, a teensy tiny bit of brown in it. So I purchased it.
It's been sitting on the kitchen counter, happy smooth and shiny haired model gal laughing at me, for over a week. Things got quiet this afternoon, all of the other people were minding their own business, so I hid out in the bathroom and gave me the business.
Oh my word. I emerged from the loo, head covered with purple goup (and boy, do I really, really mean purple). The Mister said, "Wow. Hope that's not as trailer park as it looks." Hmmm. Yeah. Me too.
Twenty minutes later, I hunkered down over the tub and rinsed me clean. The bright red streaming from my head looked more like it was coming from a deep wound, rather than a plastic bottle. So gross.
I stood in front of the mirror to determine the extent of the damage. It was bad, real bad. My purple hair glowed. It was still dripping wet. Usually I can barely tell I've colored my hair. Glowed. And to make matters worse, there wasn't enough dye to saturate my entire coiffure. I was spotted. My hair looked like the bastard child of a calico cat and the Cheshire Cat from Disney's cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland.
Maybe drying it would help?
No. Such. Luck.
I put on a hat and went straight back to the Duck, swallowed hard, and bought two boxes of a not-as-cheap, actually brown product.
The kids are in bed, the new color's in my hair. I hope that my Purple Petunia hair color is gone. But I'm afraid to look.
This is the exact science behind my hair color: lowest price. And also some kind of brown-based color. Well when I took myself on down to the Duck, the cheapest color was VERY cheap, but it was not very brown. It was more of a burgundy color. It was even called burgundy. I squinted real hard, and it sort of looked like there might be, kinda maybe, a teensy tiny bit of brown in it. So I purchased it.
It's been sitting on the kitchen counter, happy smooth and shiny haired model gal laughing at me, for over a week. Things got quiet this afternoon, all of the other people were minding their own business, so I hid out in the bathroom and gave me the business.
Oh my word. I emerged from the loo, head covered with purple goup (and boy, do I really, really mean purple). The Mister said, "Wow. Hope that's not as trailer park as it looks." Hmmm. Yeah. Me too.
Twenty minutes later, I hunkered down over the tub and rinsed me clean. The bright red streaming from my head looked more like it was coming from a deep wound, rather than a plastic bottle. So gross.
I stood in front of the mirror to determine the extent of the damage. It was bad, real bad. My purple hair glowed. It was still dripping wet. Usually I can barely tell I've colored my hair. Glowed. And to make matters worse, there wasn't enough dye to saturate my entire coiffure. I was spotted. My hair looked like the bastard child of a calico cat and the Cheshire Cat from Disney's cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland.
Maybe drying it would help?
No. Such. Luck.
I put on a hat and went straight back to the Duck, swallowed hard, and bought two boxes of a not-as-cheap, actually brown product.
The kids are in bed, the new color's in my hair. I hope that my Purple Petunia hair color is gone. But I'm afraid to look.
The usage of "Duck" is so ingrained in the family lexicon that I thought if warranted an explanation. My friends and I love to come up with incomprehensible names for things by changing them and then outright replacing them. Family Dollar became Family Ducket, Family Duck, and finally just "The Duck". The word derives from a variation of the word "ducat", a silver coin which in current usage covers everything from a single dollar to tickets to an event. I'd like to say I picked it up from the Bard, but I'm not as well versed in Shakespeare as I am Cypress Hill. (I eventually heard it used both places).
ReplyDelete-Hubby
When I saw you had left a comment, I was hoping you were going to say the status of the hair color was decent.
ReplyDeleteBut the duck explanation is pretty good, too.