I happened to glance at myself in the mirror yesterday morning and saw that my roots were white again. I know for a fact that it’s only been three weeks since I last dyed them. George said, “Hey, at least you have hair!”
I said, “George, didn’t you read The Man Book that Wally gave the Snapper for Christmas?”
He said, “Some of it, yeah. Why?”
I said, “Go back and look at the section on things not to say to a woman about her hair. Your response was right up there.”
George snapped his fingers. He said, “I’ve got an idea—why don’t you just leave your roots white and dye the rest of it a color that complements it?! You know, go with what you have instead of fighting it?”
I said ominously, “Like your black and white color scheme?” George has salt and pepper hair. I think it looks good but he thinks it makes him look old.
I called Ellie and asked how often she had to dye her roots. She said, “Every four to six weeks” and I said, “In my next life, I’m coming back blonde.”
I am a brunette. Or at least I used to be. I have been going white since I was in my early thirties. My first streak came in when I was pregnant with the Snapper. I dyed it (not for me, for the concerns about hair color and pregnancy!).
As my hair grew, so did my white streak. It looked bold and artistic. I considered ditching my gold earrings and going with all silver and turquoise. Rebecca, who had already seen me through my Audrey Hepburn hair phase, advised me to hold off. She said, “White hair and silver earrings! Next thing you know you’ll stop shaving your legs!”
Good point.
I stuck with the gold but continued to grow my streak out. It was in the front and dropped down the side of my face in true Veronica Lake style. It grew wider and more prominent and one day when I was at a parent–teacher conference, Wally’s third grade teacher said to me, “That is a distinctive look!” and Wally said, “She looks like Cruella De Vil.” The one played by Glenn Close.
I started dyeing it again.
For some reason, my bold streak eventually went away but my roots turned white, as did the highly resistant hair at my temples. I increased my visits to the hair colorist. I have a lot of hair so the price kept creeping up. When it hit $165, I hit the roof and went out and bought off-the-shelf hair color. I was a recessionista before it was fashionable.
I became pretty expert. I mixed colors together, used multiple colors to achieve a certain look, went darker in the winter and experimented with a very nearly blonde in the summer. George said to me, “I like that look” and I said, “I thought you preferred brunettes” and he shrugged and said, “And blondes, too.” This is true of George. He may prefer brunettes but that never stopped him from admiring a woman with, say, red or chestnut colored hair. He’s equal opportunity that way.
As good as I got, I never attempted dyeing hair on any other parts of my body, no matter how white it turned. Then, shortly before Christmas, I found this beauty product online: it’s called Betty Beauty, For Hair Down There. The site offered a whole range of colors and for Christmas they offered holly stencils for sale! In red and green! I was euphoric! I said to George, “What do you think?” and he looked shocked. I said, “You have no imagination” and he said, “I have imagination but it doesn’t stretch to include green pubic hair.”
I went out for drinks with Athena and Babe and told them about the site. They were equally enthusiastic and Athena said her sister had actually used the product. I asked hopefully, “Did she try the holly stencils?” and Athena said no, she was Jewish. I told her they also offered blue (Malibu Betty! Like Malibu Barbie!), but we didn’t see any menorah stencils.
