I decided to undye my hair. I didn’t
even know you could do that until I had not lunch with my friend Rachel (font
of all hairdressing knowledge) and she told me you can get this stuff that just take out all the fake colour from
your hair leaving it…virgin.
So why did I want to do it? Why now? Well I’m not entirely sure but
maybe it’s because I’ve been looking through old photographs again and I just
sort of wondered what the hell colour my hair is now – cos, seriously, it’s been thirty years since I
looked. And when I was very young it
was…this colour…
Well, actually, that looks a bit light. Could be the film. But, if not, wasn't it nice of my parents to design a whole room around my hair? Or maybe they just wanted me to blend in.
This is a bit more accurate (at least according to my memory which is, as we know, not too good). Yes, that's my foot (bad habits start young). No, those weren't my glasses.
Anyhow. I bought a box of stuff called
Decolour Remover. Nice, no-nonsense name
there. ‘Safely removes all types of
artificial colour pigments’ it said. So there are unsafe types? ‘Ultra kind,’ it said. Hmm, does that mean it proffers tissues and
pats you on the back when your original hair colour proves to be solid
grey? ‘Precision “non-drip” cream’ it
said. Well, fine. Whatever.
So it sat on my bathroom shelf
for…weeks. Cos, really, I kinda got a
bit scared. And then, one day, I just
thought, sod it. It’s only hair. I can always cut it off or dye it if it’s
ghastly.
Except. No instructions and no plastic
gloves. Now the gloves weren’t a problem (I have a whole box of surgical gloves
– don’t ask) but the instructions were kinda vital. So I told the guys from Decolour and a nice
chap sent me another box, no questions asked.
So now I had two boxes. But hey, I also have a
helluva lot of hair.
First up. The “non drip” thing – might
be great once it’s on the hair but the bloody stuff wouldn’t come out the
bottle. Second up. It stinks. Really
stinks. ‘No ammonia, bleach or peroxide’ it says. So they must have used extract of cat piss instead.
But hey. It sort of worked. Okay, I missed a few bits and the ends are
still suspiciously dark but…yeah.
And I was quite pleased. Except…
‘What have you done to your hair?’
said James.
‘I’ve undyed it,’ I said.
‘Huh?’
‘This is the real me.’
‘I’m not sure I like the real you.’
‘What?’ Cue hurt look.
‘Nah. I mean, I do like the real you. Of course I do. It’s just I hadn’t realized what
the real you was.’
‘Huh?’
‘You said your natural hair colour was
red.’
‘It is.’
‘Nah. It’s ginger.’
What?
After all these years of teaching my boy to know that racism, sexism,
homophobia and so on are all totally risible – and I’ve brought up a gingist? Holy smoke.
‘It’s okay, Mum. I love you. Even
though you’re a ginger.’
‘Unconditional love, huh?’
‘You bet.’
PS. Apologies if you thought this was going to be a post on rejuvenation or immortality. It's all in the e. :-)
