Waiting For the Jokes To Roll In

FYI - I'm cheap, although, I prefer to think of myself as Thrifty Chic. I buy generic groceries. My favorite restaurant - cringe away - is McDonald's. I'll buy furniture at the Rescue Mission and refinish it rather than buy new. So, when I've been fixing my hair in the mirror in the past few weeks and reflecting on it's, well, non-summery-blondiness, I decided that Alan and I could easily give me highlights for my winter-dull hair with one of those "kits" you can pick up at Wal-Mart.

Perhaps "cheap" isn't always the best route to go. Gold star for you if you can deduce where this post might be headed. So, here's the scene:

The boys were finishing up dessert while I put on the lovely plastic bonnet that came with the "kit". I was like little Red Riding Hood without the red and the basket of cookies. Now, this is not the first time I'd done this, but it was the first time that I enlisted the help of the ever-faithful hubbers. My BFF Andrea has helped me do this before, but as she is an hour and a half away, her assistance was not a possibility. But no biggie, right? How hard could it be?

The "kit" [side note: I LOVE that word. I love the way it sounds and the way it feels when you say it. Kit, kit, KIT!] came with two crochet-needle style hooks: one for subtle highlights and one for a more bold look. Which to choose, which to choose? Obviously a no brainer. If I'm willing to blog my innermost secrets with the internet, I'm clearly of bold material, yes?

And so, we began. After deciding that we were going to use all the holes with circles around them above ear-level on the cap, Alan set to work. He pushed the hook through the hole, twisted it in the requisite half-turn, and pulled out...nothing. "Honey!" I cried, exasperation filling my voice (ummm...and this was only on Hole One, so you might be able to interpolate how my attitude was less than patient from there on out). We deduced that while he poked through the outer plastic, he didn't protrude through the inner plastic lining. Alan, with resolve firmly in hand, tried, tried again. By possibly attempting to bore a hole in my skull. Good heavenly days! But at least three strands of hair came through this time, so we're on our way. Only I was quite sure it's supposed to be more than that coming through ONE hole, so I had him try to pull out a bit more. My hubbers, ever the patient man, returned the hook one more time through that hole, and pulled through what can only be described as a clump. A CLUMP. Provoked with his male "all or nothing" perspective on life, I gave him a brief lecture on the consistency of hair pulling for highlights, pushed the CLUMP back in, and set my jaw to continue. Fortunately, I was seated at the dining room table where I was easily able to observe the process and keep tabs on the visual of my hubber's progress through the reflection on the window on the opposite wall. I'm sure he was grateful for my assistance, as well.

And so, we proceeded. Me, enduring the head boring, the stricken expressions on my hubber's face, and all the incessant hair pulling, and him enduring the yelps, screeches, and flinching from me. And perhaps my bossiness. And my criticism. And my alien-like appearance.

And so, we finally, FINALLY completed the hair pulling process. The boys were cackling away like chickens at my appearance. I figured this was good life lessons for them of what's to come for them some day in marriage. All for $6.99.

At this point, it was time to mix up the potions and brew and slap it onto those little remnants of hair sticking out of the cap. The long, long instructions suggested doing a "preliminary test strand" before attempting this concoction on the real deal. But that? Is for sissies. And me? Well, no! I'm a bold girl, remember? And besides, I've done this before with Andrea. And I remember using the shortest time with her. And I remember there wasn't any real difference in my hair color from beginning to end. So, surely going the longest amount of time for "Medium to Dark Blonde" hair is the route for me.

I got busy working on an endless supply of work stuff on the computer (read: a smidge of work stuff and a whole lot of Facebook), all the while smelling like I had mixed Comet with water and scrubbed it on my head (no dry erase markings this time!). Lucy, who was snuggled beside me, didn't seem to mind the smell - probably because she is so odoriferous herself, and Alan had wisely escaped the wrath of his wife and her musk to the safe confines of the living room. So, 40-ish minutes later, I leaned over the tub and washed the foul-smelling chemicals off my bonnet head and then hopped in the shower for the shampoo part, sans bonnet (well, sans everything - no visuals, please).

And when I hopped back out and checked out my towel-dried head in the mirror, I noticed that my hair seemed very blonde. Blonde in not-so-much of a highlighty way. More in a B.L.O.N.D.E. way. All over blonde. And, where there's not blonde, there's BLONDE. With all the blondiness. Followed by more blonde. But you know, when your hair is wet, the highlights always stand out more, right? Surely after I blow dry it, it will be more subtle, yes?

Or no.

Wow.