Tag Archives: hairdressing disasters

Dye Jobs or Die jobs. When Hair Colouring Goes Drastically Wrong

Tessa: Recently I had the misfortune of allowing my hairdresser to have her way with me. I pointed at several pictures I had brought along as proof of where I wanted to go and showed them to her. Here this is what I want. Look. This is what I need. Not too brown, give me my shag back, not too blond either though. Natural. I want natural. Cindy whipped out her colour wheel, showed me three colours calling them things like G7 and an L8 with a little bit of aR2 will really give you a nice r2d2. Sounds fine. Let’s go.

Three hours later she’s rinsing my hair in the sink and I ask her what r2d2 looks like. She doesn’t give me her usual confident I’m so great smile and instead says …oh the gold here looks nice on top. When she removes the towel from my head I see that I’ve gone from brilliant white blond to dark brown. Dark brown must be what r2d2 is. I start reviewing the colour wheel in my mind.

She tried desperately to be cheerful.  I thought I saw my jaw drop. Yes, it did drop. Then Dave walked in and I definitely saw his jaw drop. Boy. Was his weekend ruined.

I think she knew I was upset because even her glazy cheerful demeanour started to wilt under my fragile gaze. You want your hair straightened or curly. Ahh whatever.May as well make it curly since it will go that way on its own anyways. We got half way there and I guess she decided 3 hours was enough on one client and she leaves me half dry half wet with brown hair.

We part ways and with my usual lying ways, I hugged her, said it was all terrific, gave her a big fat tip, ran outside to find the closest pair of scissors so I could cut it all off. Dave, oh Dave.  How I love Dave. He was shocked. I could tell. He’ll never admit it and that’s okay. But I know shock when I see it.

We go next door to the restaurant where I disappear into the bathroom for about 3 hours. Where were you? he asks. I don’t answer. Throughout dinner he refills my sake glass frequently.  By the time we get home he’s saying encouraging things like you’re hair is so beautifully caramel. Caramel. That’s it. It’s like toffee. You smell like toffee. You are my little toffee.

I love him too.  And I love that he uses the word caramel when we really all know what that means.

In the end I don’t cut my hair off, I don’t kill myself, I don’t anything. It’s just hair. And it’s caramel coloured. I am a caramel. So if Dave.



Filed under Random Musing