Thursday, 29 December 2011

Moneys too tight to mention

I'm sure I have already but I'm going to describe my hair to you.  Its just past my shoulders and naturally curly.  I'm quite lucky really because I have good natural curls, almost ringlets, not that frizzy kind of curly hair that has the texture and look of candy floss.  On the whole I'm quite pleased with my hair.  I'm not however overly impressed with the colour of my hair.  Its definitely blonde, or fair if you like,  however it isn't gleaming, film star blonde, in fact it could be described as mucky Labrador blonde (that's a good name for a hair dye, I might email L'oreal)

NAMES HAIR DYES SHOULD NOT BE CALLED
  • Labrador             (golden blonde)
  • Scampi sunset     (rich gold)
  • Beaver                (dirty brown)
  • Fudgepot             (nutty brown)
  • Crispy pancake    (warm copper)
Anyway back to my story.  I am feeling particularly uninspired by the colour of my hair so I have made the monumental decision to dye it a different colour.  I am not one of these types who's hair is a different colour every week.  I do not 'experiment'. Where my hair is concerned I am not 'wacky'.  I am very cautious so this is a big deal for me.  If I do get highlights I get a similar colour to my own hair.  Which makes me wonder why I find myself in Superdrug buying what is essentially orange hair dye. 

Well it isn't actually orange, its called rich copper gold and its really nice.  So I buy it (two boxes, don't want it to be patchy) and take it home to do.

As I say I'm not an experienced dyer of hair so I make sure I read the instructions properly (I skim read them paying more attention to the pictures than the words) and get on with it.

After mixing the bottles together I shut myself in the bathroom and start squirting the mixture onto my hair.

OH SWEET JESUS ITS FLUORESCENT ORANGE.

Its too late to stop now, I have to keep going.  To add insult to injury, I can barely breath something is burning my throat and my eyes, as I open the bathroom window and gulp in lungfuls of air I decide I have a new found respect for hairdressers. So on I go squirting and then rubbing it in.  Its burning my hands a bit and they've gone a funny orange colour, you think they'd provide you with gloves. (Yes. I know now that they do. I saw the little plastic packets but just didn't open them. Having hands that resemble chicken tikka for 3 days has taught me a valuable lesson about reading instructions).

I decide to read the instructions regarding the timing as I've been caught out with an oven ready chicken before.  Right.  I need to give it 30 minutes.  Well that's no bloody help.........

30 MINUTES FROM WHEN?
  • From when I started applying the dye
  • From when I finished applying the dye - in which case - because of the burning chicken tikka hand incident - one part of my hair will have been on 40 minutes and the other half 30 minutes.  I will have a two tone head.
  • From when I finished reading the instructions.
I decide to set my alarm for 30 minutes from the point I stopped wondering.  I wrap a towel around my neck and wrap tin foil around my head.  I obviously have an above average sized head as the amount of foil I need to use would do 3 turkeys and line a barbecue.

I sit down and wait for the 30 minutes to pass.  A few minutes before its due to come off I chance a little peak under the foil and am horrified to discover my hair appears to be a weird peach colour.  I'm about to rush into the bathroom and wash it off when i decide that the final 2 minutes might be the time that the colour fully develops, in the manner of a swan.  My hair is currently the 'ugly/peach duckling' and will soon be the 'beautiful/bronze swan'.   The fumes have clearly got to me as while I've been rambling on about swans the dye has been on for nearly 40 minutes.

I head to the bathroom and remove the foil.  The peach foam is still present, it hasn't as I'd anticipated transformed into a rich bronze.  I dig the instructions out of the bin and check what I'm supposed to do at this point. (Note to self:  never, ever be such a bloody halfwit again, and should one decide to dye ones hair again lose the cocky attitude and read the instructions PROPERLY)

So it would seem that I need to rinse off the dye, wash my hair, and then apply the miracle conditioner that will lock in the colour until the next millennium.

I do all of the above, pluck up my courage and then look in the mirror.

It's really quite nice. In fact it's lovely. I decide however the thing to do is dry and style it and then make a decision.

Okay. So here we are. Hair dried and styled and it looks nice.  It really is a warm bronze gold. I'm quite chuffed and inwardly laugh at those idiots who have previously dyed their hair demented colours at home. I'm actually smug (like Davina)

I get up for work the following morning, shower, wash my hair, re-use the magical conditioner and do my hair.....Not only do I have amazing ringlets I now have the loveliest rich copper blonde hair.

I drive to work admiring my hair in the mirror all the way. I inadvertently knock over 2 pensioners, a lollipop lady and a fox (not the animal just a sexy girl) on the way, I should probably go back and assist them but I'm completely mesmerised my by stunning hair, so I don't bother.

I arrive at work, park up and head into the office, flipping my rich ringlets as I go.  I walk towards my team and they look at me. I may be wrong but I think I see a combination of admiration and desire in their eyes.

I toss my head around a bit more.  I am utterly fabulous. Admired by many. In fact my hair is clearly reminding people of Cheryl Cole.

Then I notice my team are all humming/singing under their breath. I'm completely thrilled, my teams morale is clearly through the roof. I sit down and notice the humming/singing is getting louder

Even at this point I haven't clicked as to what they're doing.  I'm still convinced they're just happy at their work, so I wander around them saying good morning.

Me: Hi Dan, how's things, good weekend?
Dan:  Yes, I spent it at the fairground

Me: Morning Dorothy, you OK.
Dorothy: Yes, I was just talking about my new eye cream. I suppose I'm just holding back the years.....

I STILL HAVEN'T CLICKED.

Me: Hiya Tone, how's it going
Tony: Good! We were just talking to Michael, he was telling us he had a new flame.

At this point I'm still cheerfully tossing my newly dyed hair around when it suddenly falls into place.

THEY'RE IMPLYING I LOOK LIKE MICK HUCKNALL.

I rush to the toilet and look in the mirror.

Oh Sweet Jesus I do.

Roll on pay day when I can afford to get it coloured properly.

After all.....

MONEY'S TOO TIGHT TO MENTION.........

No comments:

Post a Comment