I need to get to a hairdresser, not this week, 2 weeks ago already. The roots you know, they are screaming for some colour. We are going to the game tomorrow and I have to look presentable!
But alas, there has been no time, so I committed the mortal sin of attempting home dye. My natural (snort) hair colour is anything from a brown to a red, but on the rather boring side. Whenever I can afford it I would put the odd streak in, but generally I leave it up to Ingrid, my hairdresser, she’s the bomb.
I had gotten Julie & Julia to watch, so I convinced hubby to take my reading (to Daniel) turn and planned it so that I put the dye on, put the kids to bed, get the girls settled and then dash into the shower. Only, the ‘development time’ on the box was 10 minutes instead of the usual 20-25 minutes. How inconvenient. We all know it takes longer than 10 minutes to get children to go to sleep. It takes that long to herd them into the bedroom!
When the chanting started from their room (MY Mamma, MY Pappa, My Mamma, MY Pappa!!) I knew we were in for a rough one. Then commenced operation keep-the-girls-in-bed which took up another 30 minutes. By this time I was getting a little nervous about the burny scalp, but what could I do? I tweeted and waited. Eventually hubby emerged from Daniel’s room and I sprinted down the passage.
In the shower, out the shower, put movie on, squeeze into one of their kiddy poofs, eat snacks and 2 hours go by. And I realise I hadn’t even looked at my hair. I mean, surely ‘spiced chocolate’ looks exactly like, well, brown hair?
It probably would have if I followed the suggested 10 minutes ‘development time’. Now it just looks like plum-spiced chocolate. Feck. And I still don’t have time to go to the hairdresser. So, if you happen to be sitting at the Cape Town stadium tomorrow and a deep purple siren walks past you, it’s me. Just smile and wave.
And NO, I’m not posting pics.