Hair today. . . gone tomorrow

Yesterday I wasn't happy with my appearance and my saving grace was that I had long-ago scheduled an appointment to color my hair.

It's a lengthy process and an expensive prospect, but it's gotten to be a bit of a regimen for me, one that is welcomed about every six weeks.

As I sat in the pedicure chair with my dye setting in, I noticed it looked a bit dark, but it never really looks like the end result, so I continued knitting while the pedicurist worked on my toes. (Yes, they convinced me to get a long overdue foot treatment while I was waiting.)

Soon the pedicure was complete, the timer had gone off for my hair and I was ready for rinsing. Post rinsing she began to dry my hair and much to my dismay I noticed that she had not colored my roots, but actually given me roots. . . dark roots. At one point I gasped, "It looks really dark Hair Lady." To which she replied, "Oh, it does, but it looks so good." Liar!

I sat in the swivel chair like a deer in headlights unsure what to say as she, who had colored my hair for the past five years, tossed my hair from side to side, pretending it was all ok.

It wasn't ok and I think she saw it in my face. "Oh, wash it a few times and if it doesn't lighten come see me and we'll fix it."

Fix it? Fix it now. Don't make me walk out of here looking like someone long overdue for a color job. I came in here looking better than this.

I paid her and left. I sat in the car and frantically dialed any friend I knew would understand and as one consoled me I ventured home, glancing in my rearview mirror in horror.

I rushed in the door of the house hoping that the light in the car was deceiving, but I only learned that it was true: I had hooker hair. Paint some bright red lipstick on me, strap on some fishnet stockings, a little teasing and chipped nail polish and I had a new profession.

Cynical walked in and that was my trigger. I cried. I cried and cried. I was mortified. Now did I not only have hooker hair, but I had mascara running down my face and my nose was running. I was at my most attractive. No wonder that man loves me.

I washed my hair twice last night and twice this morning, but alas, there's no improvement, so now I wait until 9 a.m. when Hair Lady arrives at the shop. I am not sure what to say to her except, "Fix me. Fix this mess. Fix it today."

And now there is the dilemma of will she only make it worse. Coloring twice can't be good for your hair. Is this only going to end in me having no hair or becoming a brunette?

Shoot me now or get me a mini-skirt and high heels. I can't take this.