MY HAIR OF MANY COLORS

Since moving to Vero Beach, I've been more hair colors (and styles) than Cher, Madonna, and Brittany Spears combined. My therapist joked that neighbors probably wondered about all these strange women shacking-up with with my father.

I was born a blonde. But my hair darkened to the color of dead leaves by the time I reached mid-teens. It didn't suit me. After I graduating High School, I bleached my hair and entered Junior College as a brassy blonde.

Through the years I experimented with toners and rinses, and have been every shade of blonde imaginable.

Once, I put a red rinse in my pale blonde hair and it came out pinkish-purple. Fortunately, it was Halloween week and I was still young enough to pull off the punk look. But to my horror, it wouldn't wash out! I made an emergency call to the Clairol Hot Line and followed their instructions. I came out a strawberry blonde. The color slowly faded with each subsequent washing.

1998 I was 47 yrs old, my hair was almost platinum and fell to mid-waist. I decided I was getting too old for that look. We were preparing to put our house on the market and move to another town. The time was perfect for a change.

I've always hated short hair. So I decided to find a more natural-looking color.

Long hair is ultra feminine and extremely versatile. Women sporting short styles always appear like they're wearing a stupid-looking helmet. Also I was never allowed lengthy locks as a child. Though I longed for them.

My mother refused to have a daughter who looked like a beatnik. As soon as my hair reached mid-neck she'd whip out the scissors! I'd cry and fuss. She'd yell and start hitting me with the hair brush. Always there was a scene! "You can have long hair when you're 21!" She'd scream.

A burly, neighbor named George was sympathetic. "You'll have long hair by the time you're 16," he told me. "A parent doesn't have the same control over a teenager as they do over an 11 yr old."

The man was a prophet!  At age 16, I had waist-length hair just like a hippie!  However, that look wasn't right for me at age 47.

I've always been a do-it-yourself gal when it comes to cutting & coloring my hair. I trust beauticians about as much as I trust my mother, for valid reasons.

Shortly after I turned 26, I went to a Beauty Parlor to have my hair styled. The 1st thing I told the woman was NOT to cut my hair short. I pulled out a pad & pencil to show her exactly what I wanted, just a little off the top and sides. Then I asked if she understood. She nodded.

Red flares and warning sirens should have been rattling my head as she swung my chair away from the mirror. A few minutes later, I looked down and saw most of my long hair on the floor! Quickly, I turned to face the mirror and almost shrieked! She was cutting behind my ear and only the very back remained long.

"What are you doing!?" I hollered. "I specifically told you NO short hair!!!"

She paused and gave me the sweetest smile. "But I have to dear," she replied, "otherwise you won't have any style."

"Well don't cut off any more!" I snapped.

Actually long hair was in style that year! I don't know what she was thinking. -- My parents figured jealousy and sabotage.

I ended up with a style similar to a gypsy shag. I didn't like the ridiculous way she teased and sprayed the short hair to frame my face like spider legs. I looked like a 60's gospel singer at the Grand Ole Opry. People gasped as I showed up for work the next day. After I washed it out and styled it softer, it looked much better.

But after doing my own hair for decades, I decided to let the hairdressers take over. -- I should have trusted my experience, instead. Remember what I told you about Realtors, politicians, used car salesmen, and lawyers in a previous blog? Well you can shove hairdressers in that same bag and shake it! I found most of them equally deceitful.

One was even insulting. He was gushing to another stylist about a woman who gave him a $50 tip. "Oh her hair was the color of camel suede," he enthused, She had the thickest, most beautiful hair I have ever seen! About 10 times as thick as this!" -- He grabs a handful of MY hair. My jaw dropped! Just because I had chemicals in my hair didn't mean I'd gone deaf.

After that remark, I never returned. And he was the best one! Although once, when he tin foiled my entire head, (I looked like the Naboo Queen from Star Wars.) he jerked the strips out so fast, I yelped and jumped in my chair!  Later, I found a bald spot the size of a dime on my front left side. Fortunately, it grew back.

At one point I had been forced to cut my hair short and return to my natural hue. A color I never wanted to see again!!!  I was told it was necessary to eventually get the look I wanted. I was shocked to see more than a few strands of gray. To make it more flattering, I put in a black rinse while it was growing out.

Also I had several dark-brunette and blonde synthetic wigs of short to medium length. Aunt Kiki sent them to Mom while she was enduring chemotherapy. Now they were mine.

I returned to doing my own hair, and happily so.  Beauticians work on the same principle as doctors. They can be servicing 3 other clients along with you. It's too time consuming. I'm faster!  Plus I can cut & color for less than the price of their tip.

However, I can also mess-up! Same as they do! I found I have no talent for working with tin foil. It was a disaster!  I came out looking like a mutant leopard.  Again, it was my surrogate mother, Miss Clairol to the rescue! I phoned their Hot Line.

"How do you feel about RED?" the technician asked.

I had never been a redhead. But I was willing to give it a try. After following their instructions, my hair came out auburn. It looked rather pretty with my teal eyes and porcelain skin. Intrigued, I wanted to go redder.

Unfortunately, my father hated red hair. Also that was the summer he discontinued chemotherapy. As my color grew out, I went back to using the dark rinse. I also cut it short due to damage from colorings and the elements.

After my father's death, and one week before his memorial service, I became a flaming, copper redhead. I still am, and I love it!  This is an exotic look to me. Because there are no redheads in my family tree.

When I was 36, a psychic told me that in later years my life would completely change. Also that a red-haired person would be someone important to me. I always thought that person would be someone else.