When vanity and stupidity have a love child…
It looks a little something like this.(My Nick Nolte immitation)
I bleached my hair back in November. I loved it so much I bleached it again every four weeks. At home mostly and with the knowledge that eventually, my hair would find a way to avenge itself.
I haven’t retouched my hair for almost seven weeks now. The straw brittle feeling in the shower each morning made me find reasons to put it off one more week, knowing full well – if I bleached one more time it would be my last. Anyway, last night when I got home from work and saw the inch long dark-brown roots on my platinum head, I realized this was it. It was time to get a trim and a professional dye job. Let my hair fall out on someone else’s watch, right? I hurried down to the nearest walk-in and booked an appointment with a dear woman who spoke English with such a heavy accent I just KNEW we would have a miscommunication. But I went ahead and pointed at the platinum blond I liked and the short bob cut.
She stayed late to get me all fixed up with razored layers and a brown dye job she called, “a more natural blond” than the one I pointed out. As I sat under the dryer I took a few deep breaths of chemical laden air and thought.
“This lady has done the best she thinks she can with VERY damaged hair. Just smile when she’s done. Yes, even tip her – she’s likely going to go home crying tonight about what she did to some poor girl at the shop. Then… I’ll go home and fix it myself.”
As she rinsed the “blond” out, I thought I heard crackling of broken hair, perhaps it was my imagination.
“That, is the sound of inevitability.” Agent Smith said in the shadow of my brain.
I had plans to go to the grocery store after, but once I looked in the mirror I choked between a hysterical laugh and a need to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture. I scurried home like a bullied nerd.
After a wash and a load of products I knew it was unfixable. No matter what I did, how I styled… I looked like I’d just pulled my head out of someone’s ass. I was doomed. So I sat on the bathtub ledge and made up my mind. I would shave my head.
It’s strange. I wasn’t upset about it. I was nervous and excited. I wrapped a towel around my head and hurried over to the neighbor’s house. Poor guy. I was so confrazelated by the idea of what I was about to do, that I couldn’t remember what the name of the thing was that I was asking for –“Do you have one of those – uh –those head things- you know…” I mimed shaving my head, “The shaver buzzers.”
“A razor?” he asked.
“Yeah! One of those. Do you have an electric one I could borrow?”
“Sure,” he replied a little confused and disappeared.
When he returned he handed me a trimmer with a guard and said, “You’re not shaving your head – are you?”
“Do you mind if I use your razor for that? It might get dull.”
“No –no, that’s fine. Great. No problem.” He stared at me. “You’re really going to shave your head?”
“Well,” I quickly told him the story but refused to remove the towel, finishing with, “so if you hear crying… that’s probably just me.”
He gave a half laugh.
“I’ll bring this right back.”
“No- no- no hurry. That’s okay,” he started backing into the house. “That’s fine, I’m not in a hurry.”
I shrugged, and went home to start the process of hacking away with scissors as much as possible before using the trimmer at the highest setting. Unfortunately, I didn’t lock it, so as I would be buzzing away at level 8 then look in the mirror and it was lopsided, and I’d look at the trimmer to discover it was on level 5.
Aha! After locking it and finishing up – a very itchy-weird process that was surprisingly therapeutic and fun. I did my makeup and took some pictures to see what I looked like.
I kept thinking, “Thank god I already put my notice in at work.”
This morning I was nervous. Wondering what my boss would say. I thought about wearing a scarf, but decided against it.
When I came in, they barely even looked up. Finally, my boss asked me what happened and I said, “You don’t pay me enough. I can’t afford shampoo. This is cost efficiency.”
He just stared. Evidently, no humor in the morning.
“I bleached one too many times,” I added. Interestingly, no one has said anything about it. Maybe it was just a big deal in my own mind. Or maybe they think if they ignore it, it will just go away.
As I sit here typing, the UPS guy walked in. He comes in every morning and today he said, “Wow. Always something new and you always make it look good.”
I think my mouth must have fallen open. I stuttered for a second before recovering with the front that I might not have heard him. Did I just get hit on? Bald? Hit on while I’m bald!?
As he was leaving he said, “It’s actually pretty hot.”
I’m so flustered at the moment I can’t even think… This is not the reaction I was expecting. AT ALL.
I think I might have some fun with this…
I’ll post more photos on the Photo link to the right.
[...] But the truth is – it was just a tragic bleaching accident. Oopsy-daisy. [...]