Would You Believe I'm in The Witness Protection Program?

So many of you gave me some great suggestions and sympathy for the hair fiasco, and I say thank you. You are my tribe, and I plan on smoking a peace pipe in your honor tonight as I sit in my tepee, where my husband has banished me and Bellatrix. (Just kidding. I'm sitting in my office while my husband watches Seinfeld in the other room. But in many ways, this office is like my tepee. Also, I'm not smoking anything, though you might see some smoke coming out of my ears and flames flickering at my nostrils.) 

When I squirted the tube of liquid death all over my head (aka hair dye) I was supposed to end up with my real hair color, you see, or as close to it as I remember it being after years and years of coloring. This was supposed to transform me to the "college student Susan" from the early Nineties. But this is not me now, or then. I have never had black hair. And no matter what my husband says, this is BLACK, not dark brown. 

I started getting mad about it the other night. "Why can't you like me the way that I am?" I asked my husband, wagging my finger at him. He had no response to that. After all, I dyed my hair for him, not me. Whenever I told him that I was going to just let my hair go grey as it wanted to, he responded by pumping his fist in the air and saying, "Fight! Fight! Fight it, Babe!", as in, Try to look young as long as possible. Even if you're not twenty-two anymore. So I did try to fight. And I was defeated.

So thanks to all of you who could commiserate. My sister Laura told me to wash with certain shampoos to make it fade faster. And that has worked somewhat. Instead of deep black, my hair has settled comfortably into a murky grey-ish black. My other sister Mary assured me that I look just fine. Mary is overly optimistic, though, not to mention way nicer than I am. Also, she tells me that my hair has never been mousy brown, which is not true. (And I can tell you, if there was a box of hair dye labeled "mousy brown" I would have snatched it right up.) 

Other friends emailed me with tales of relatives who dyed their hair and then, when it grew out a bit ended up with a white streak through it, "kind of like a skunk." This made me glad that I don't have the skunk thing going on. YET. The same friend reminded me that it will grow out eventually. And when I'm a grandmother, grey hair is not only acceptable, it's a badge of honor. I wonder if I can be a foster grandmother at thirty-eight?  

But some friends have already gone grey, like Melanie, who told me she's been letting her hair do its grey thing since she was thirty. To her I say, Rock on, sister. I've seen recent pictures, and I can tell you she's beautiful.  

I'll admit that before I did this to my hair I was starting to look like Janice Joplin with my frizzy fried split ends and tired, limp locks. It was time for a hair cut, and I did manage to squeeze that into my day before I ruined everything. Yet, now that I no longer look like a hippie chick, my appearance has not improved. I still go to bed every night thinking that when I wake up, my hair will look much better. And when I stumble to the bathroom every morning and flick on the light, it's Bellatrix in the mirror, not me. I have to stifle a scream. Then I have to repent for the swear words that come to mind as I lean closer to myself and look for any change in hair hue.

The situation is intolerable. I do not drink, and never have. But this is one of those times when that little habit might have come in handy. As it is, I've been chugging mugs of stiff hot chocolate all week long. However, there's only so much chocolate I can consume without breaking out, so I've resolved to do something. I have decided to take my friend Michelle's advice and call a professional. When I told my husband this, he said, "Why?" 

I stared at him then. "Are you blind?" I asked, pointing to my hair. "I hate this." 

My husband looked at me and my hair, which for the fourth day in a row has been in a pony tail. "I like it," he said. There's no way this can be better than dark brown mixed with grey. I'm sorry, but I'm not that gullible. His statement was clearly a defensive move. Strike before being struck. Admit no fault and take no blame. 

If I had a green pepper at that moment, I would have launched it at his head. But as I usually do this when I'm pregnant, it might have sent him the wrong message. Instead of "I'm sorry, dear" he would have said, "When are you due?" As it was, I didn't say a thing, just trudged up the stairs muttering to myself. 

Comments

[Nicole W.]

It takes awhile to get used to it--I remember from when I went way dark, and now I love it. Plus it should fade out naturally, without any regrowth like you would have if you put in highlights. Added bonus, I think you look like Angelina Jolie!

[Traci]

i like it!!! remember, this too shall pass!

[LauraB.]

Oh Susan! I was expecting something way worse after reading your blog the other day. You look absolutely gorgeous! I think you just aren't use to the darker color with your skin tone. However, I totally understand what you are going through as it's exactly what I went through. Hang in there! It will all work out fine. By the way - I think it makes you look like a movie star!

[MaryB]

I agree with Julie. And I stand by my statement that I think you look good! I really don't see what the problem is...but if you're not happy about it then you should go ahead and do something about it. You need to be happy with what you see in the mirror--don't worry about what others think.

[Julie B.]

I'm glad you posted a photo. You look great! You look like a movie star! You always look beautiful no matter what you do. Beautiful inside and out :)