Dye, Dye, My Darling!

"Every day, in every way, I am changing for the better. With each new dawn, I grow stronger in will and in peace of mind. I rejoice with each sunset, for I know it has endowed upon me the gifts of clarity and self-awareness that empower me to make this world a much more loving, harmonious place."

(If you believe any of that claptrap, I can get you into a sweet deal on a hedge fund run by one of Bernie Madoff's relatives.........)

Still, I've been forced to keep chanting that lunatic mantra every day since last Friday evening....or risk doing hard time in a Kenyan prison for Second Degree Murder Committed Upon a Hapless Aesthetician. That's when I fell victim to yet another senseless salon tragedy, wherein the shade I requested was NOT what I walked out the door with.

Don't worry...it's nothing truly horrific, like a tawdry, unnatural "Hoochified Hazel" or anything. It's more of an opaque, depthless, dark shade, a la Elvis, circa 1969. Actually, it's my own fault, because instead of sticking with what I knew had already worked at the neighborhood beauty parlor I've been frequenting, I asked the stylist at an upscale salon in the Village Market shopping mall to tone my color down a bit. I just wanted to try something new for 2009.

I soon discovered that while my young mane maven was a pleasant girl with a deft hand at twisting natural hair, subtlety was NOT one of her styling strengths. Not only did she leave her witches' brew on my scalp so long I almost had to call in the Haz Mat team, but upon my first post rinse self-inspection, I wondered who had slapped Robert Goulet's scalp on top of mine.

But the great news is that I didn't have an aneurysm about it, and I didn't make a scene.....and I didn't absolutely HATE the way I looked. I mean, I look like myself, just with a different hair color. Luckily, it IS a shade that occurs in nature....just not the shade I've been used to for the past 2 years. I've allowed myself to be seen in public since it happened, and so far noone has clutched their throat in horror.

Still, this weekend I'll be going back to my downscale salon for the highlights I've grown to love. Those folks knew what they were doing, even if they don't have the hi-faluting address in the leafy suburbs near the US Embassy.

(Oh, and don't even PLAY like you're gonna ask for photographic evidence of this latest coiffure-ial drive-by, 'cuz you ain't gettin' it. I prefer that you envision me with my honeyed halo intact!)