I went to the hairdresser yesterday. Nothing too dramatic--the usual highlights, a chance to catch up with one of my favorite people (if you live in Greater Boston and need hair help, Andrea is the best hairdresser/cool friend combo I've ever found--love her!) I'd been baking in tinfoil under the lights for about thirty minutes when Andrea came over to check on me. We were chatting about whether the fact that neither one of us owns a scale is a sign of self-esteem or deep denial when all of a sudden she paused and said, "Wow--that's pink..."
I didn't believe her. "Hahaha. That's funny," I replied.
"No, I'm not kidding," she said, looking perplexed. "Check this out." She unwrapped the foils from a few strands of hair, and sure enough, some of them were decidedly pink. (I discovered this morning that pink has it's own Wikipedia page, so if you want to know what shade of pink my hair was, click here. My highlights were somewhere between "Web Color Pink" and "Nadeshiko Pink," making this the closest I've ever come to being culturally diverse).
Andrea remained surprisingly calm through all of this. I, on the other hand, was consumed with a fit of the giggles. It just seemed too funny that on the eve of what might be the biggest trip of my professional life (have I mentioned that I'm going to NYC on Monday to meet all the awesome people involved with publishing/promoting/marketing my book?) I have Web Color Pink/Nadeshiko Pink highlights. I started mentally rearranging my wardrobe choices to account for this new addition to my fall color scheme.
Andrea attacked the pink with some combination from the other side of the color wheel (I tried not to worry as she mentioned blue and green--two other shades I couldn't see working for me on a long-term basis) while I prayed silently for a chemical miracle. I earned D's in two of my four semesters of high school chemistry, so I wasn't at all certain I had any prayer leverage in the Science Wing of heaven, but I thought they might recognize me in the Bad Hair Day Division, so I lobbed my prayers upwards, hoping they'd land in the right place.
We washed my hair. We dried it. It looked fine to me. "Um, no," Andrea said, easing me back into the chair as I started to stand up. "It's still pink."
I called Steve to tell him I'd be home a little later than expected.
One hour, two chemical processes, and a whole bunch of fervent, giggly prayer later, my hair was restored to it's usual shade of girl-next-door brown with blond highlights. And if you see me on the streets of NY next week...you probably won't even notice, because I'll look like everybody else :)