I am the queen of bargains. People who know me know that I can find the best price for anything, even food. And clothing. And dishes. And gifts. I am the person who shops the half price bins at the grocery store: meats, fruits and vegetables, ready made salads, day old bread, you name it. Can you imagine how I felt one day while rummaging through the half price bin at Superstore in New Minas last month, when I pushed aside the teas, biscuits, canned goods and leftover Valentines Day candy and found…are you ready for this? My brand and color of hair dye! It was right there in that bin with a pink half price sticker. Greedily I grabbed it up while looking to see if there were any more: two for the price of one, you know. But alas! There was only one and I bought it, brought it home and stored it in the cupboard, waiting for the day in the not too distant future when my grey roots would be showing just a little too much.
That day came a little over two weeks ago. With a self-satisfied smile I got out all my gear. There it was, my half price box of hair dye. The color was dark brown chestnut, my usual color. Things were going well; the dye was in my hair and I was getting ready to go have a coffee while I waited the requisite twenty-five minutes. At about that time I happened to glance in the mirror and noticed dye stains at the hairline. They were not even brown. Dark purple was the color that came to mind. “Nah” I said to myself while going to prepare the coffee. These dyes often look one color in the bottle and turn out completely different. Chemical reactions, you know. Something kept nagging at me though, something at the periphery of my consciousness. Sure, I had had purple streaks in my hair when I worked at the Lavender farm, but now I was supposed to be a respectable married woman. I had fleeting nightmares of showing up at my meeting that evening with purple hair. What would that Newcomers Club think of me then??
“Whatever will be, will be”, I thought as I started to wash the dye out of my hair. The sink rapidly filled up with the darkest, most beautiful purple. It just kept coming and coming, or I should say, going and going, down the drain. It covered my hands, the counter, the towel. I wondered what it would look like. You know how it’s hard to tell if the dye has taken well while your hair is still wet? Well, mine just looked dark. Darker than dark. So I had to dry it to find out if I would be in competition with Mildred, George’s purple dancing partner on the Muppet Show.
Well, my hair did not turn out purple. It was black. I never had black hair before. They say that black hair can make you look Goth. It can also make you look like a perfect Oriental doll. I like to think that I look like a raven haired goddess with cascading tresses. Notwithstanding the fact that my tresses don’t cascade, I’ll stick with the goddess part.
And I’m not sure that I’ll be buying hair dye on the half price shelf at the grocery store anymore.