Home Salon

Rewind about thirteen years ago. I was 22, newly married only for about two years. Money was tight and one of the things I did to cut corners was do my beauty maintenance at home. One day I had the bright idea to wax my legs...something I had never attempted before, bad idea. I bought one of those kits that boasted "no paper necessary, just peel was off". Sounded easy enough. Of course I thought why not make it easier and ignore the directions that say small section at a time and do both legs at once, bad idea #2. Needless to say after several attempts to peel, wash, cut, soak (with lighter fluid none the less), I worked about 3/4 of it off my legs. My legs were blue from my jeans for weeks.

Lesson learned, right? No. Over the years I've had several home salon mishaps and I keep going back for more.

Fast forward to present. With me being confined to the couch and unable to do anything, a couple of my besties went in on a cleaning lady for me. My husband thought it was such a good idea he hired her to help me through my recovery. Most women would jump for joy, but honestly I feel a little silly. Sure, I know I'm not supposed to do anything, but I can't help but feel guilty. So in an attempt to ease my guilt I decided to dye my hair myself, with the help of a friend, to contribute in my own way to the hiring a cleaning lady.

Truth be told I have dyed my hair for years on my own. In fact just before thanksgiving I became a brunette for the first time, but as any "blonde" will tell you, it's hard to stay brunette. No offense to any brunettes out there in cyberland. I have a lot of friends who are brunettes. I'm just a girl who likes blonde. I'm sure your thinking, so what's the point. I'm getting to it.

The reason I dyed my hair brown in the first place was because it was just getting too long for me to do myself. You see, about two years ago I went to see Mamma Mia, the movie, and fell in love with Meryl Streep's hair. I decided then I must have it on my head..thus the growing began. Dying it brown did help and I thought I had found the perfect solution to my problem, that was until Mamma Mia was broadcasted on television. Meyrl Steep's hair was blonde. A spark started inside and I needed my blonde hair back.

Two days ago one of my besties came over to help me not only save money but look like Meyrl Streep in Mamma Mia. I told her to get one of those frosting kits, the one with the cap where you pull the hair through. Sounded simple enough. I would just sit there while she helped my tranform into my Meyrl Streep image.

I had done the cap thing once, in seventh grade. A girl whose mother was a hair dresser swore to me that she knew what she was doing. The only thing I can remember from the experience is that it hurt. It hurt real bad, but in my infinite wisdom I thought that it would be better this time. I was clearly wrong.

At eight p.m. the torture began. At first it wasn't bad, a little tug here and little tug there. I could handle it after all I was saving money that could go towards the new cleaning lady. By nine p.m. it was a different story. As I felt and heard my hair being pulled from my head my friend said, "We are almost halfway done."

All I could muster out of my mouth was, "Almost halfway?"

At this point I was too far into it to turn around. I convinced myself to keep going. I kept going even after my husband said I looked like a doll that a little girl hadn't taken care of and my children kept walking by with strange looks on their faces. I kept going even when my friend's voice turned from confident to skeptical.

An hour later my hair was completely pulled through the cap. It was ready for the dye. My friend slathered it on and the waiting began. As my hair processed I wondered what would happen when it was finished. Would I have any hair when this was finished? I didn't know. All I could do is laugh. After all this was my bright idea.

Just before I washed out the solution Pumpkin Head helped ease my fears by telling me that my hair looked like yarn and that I should of left it along. He is now written out of my will.

After another hour of rinsing and working the cap off of my head, I was able to see the finished product. I ignored the small pile of hair that was left in the bottom of my shower and apprehensively looked in the mirror afraid that I would still resemble that unwanted doll. By God's grace I did not. In fact my hair looked great. However, the next morning as I was carefully washing my aching head I made a promise to myself that I would close my home salon once and for all. I know they say pain is beauty, but I think that saying should be saving money is pain, beauty is worth the cost.