It’s 9pm on Tuesday evening. On Saturday I’m having my 30th birthday party, which I’ve decided to theme as “Black Tie” in order to add a touch of class to the occasion. I need to add a little class because trust me, after a few vino’s I’m anything but classy myself! I've bought a new frock, had a gorgeoys Minx treatment on my toenails and at the moment I’m dying my hair in an effort to look my absoloute best for my special little soiree. The description on the box says that it's “Dark French Roast”, but as we speak, my roots are turning a shade of golden blonde. I’m more than a little concerned that the wrong solution has been put into this particular box of L’Oréal hair colour, especially as given that the rest of my shoulder length hair is well...brunette, blonde roots could look a little stupid.
Shit. At six minutes into a thirty minute development time, I’m going to wing it for a little longer and hope it starts to darken.
Have you ever noticed that thirty minutes when dying your hair, is pretty comparable with thirty minutes sat in a traffic jam, or waiting for your dinner to cook when you’re starving, but is significantly longer that a thirty minute lunch break? Why is that? They say that time waits for no man, but I tell you what, it certainly dawdles when your don’t want it to.
Fuck...Eleven minutes in and it’s going ginger!
It’s not much to ask is it...that I have one thing in my life go off without a hitch? I’ve not had the best luck recently and I’ve got a nagging feeling that something is going to happen, something that will mean I remember my 30th birthday for all the wrong reasons, and to be honest, this run of bad luck is starting to really get on my wick. I have so few things in my life at the moment that bring me joy, and it just seems like no matter what I do I can’t seem to get back on track. How is it that some people always land on their feet, and yet people like me can’t even dye their hair successfully?
Oh for crying out loud, sixteen minutes and it’s actually gone orange now. Bollocks, have re-read instructions and it says apply to wet hair, not dry hair...could that be affecting it? Seriously? I haven’t bought a hair dye that couldn’t be applied to dry hair in years – I always buy L’Oréal but this was the glossier golden packet as opposed to the normal pastel coloured packet. Why the hell would L’Oréal have two different types of dye that need to be applied in completely different ways? A bit of consistency within a brand wouldn’t go a miss would it?
Hmm...I’m twenty-one minutes in now and think maybe I should go and wash it off.
Lather rinse repeat, lather rinse repeat, and now I’m so bloody desperate to get out of the shower to check what the damage is that I slice my leg open while attempting to shave my legs too quickly, great, blood. Ouch! Stinging! Remnants of hair dye not quite washed out has now trickled in gaping leg wound...why does water always make blood loss look more substantial? Of course it could also be the hair dye, but it looks like there’s been a massacre in my bath tub! Good job I’m not squeamish.
Get out of bath – find hair dye towel. All women have one of these. It’s the mankiest looking thing you’ll ever see, due to years of colour experimentation, but essential for home colouring. Stub toe in process of searching for towel because naturally you have to do all of this with your eyes squeezed tight shut. You just never know if a teeny bit of hair dye will have missed the rinse and dribble into your eye, and trust me, that stings like a bitch. Worry that I’ve just ruined my toenails. Bugger, will check in a minute.
Towel dry initially...decide after first mirror check that it might not be the disaster that I first feared. Notice however that most of the dye appears to have been applied to my forehead and neck. Spend five minutes trying to remove colour from my skin using make-up remover without success. Consider going straight to the Cilit Bang in a moment of sheer panic, but manage to get a hold of my senses just in time to remember that I have some left over Clinique Clarifying Tonic which is essentially Sticky Stuff Remover in a posher bottle. Using this allows me to burn off the first six layers of my skin, thus solving the problem of a stained forehead. Apply first aid to gaping leg wound in form of torn off corner of loo roll. This quick thinking saves me from an almost inevitible amputation or at the very least, gangrene. Phew, Minx seem to have survived (there is a God).
Dry hair fully...Hmm...
Well it's not a disaster exactly. My roots aren’t orange, or blonde. In fact L’Oréal’s "Dark French Roast" happens to be quite a fancy name for something that is essentially mousey brown. In fact, it’s the same mousey brown as my own hair colour...which means forty minutes down the line. I don’t actually look like I’ve dyed my hair at all.
Brilliant.
