The Hair of Many Colours
So, I kind of blasted a co-worker the other day. I'll refer to her as Blondie.
We were doing a story about blonde celebs like Britney, Cameron, et al going brunette in an effort to gain more respect. Um, newsflash ladies, it's not your hair colour that makes people not respect you. But I digress.
Blondie pipes up that she's only ever been various shades of blonde because other colours don't look good on her. Then she remarks that some women haven't seen their natural hair colour in 20 years or more.
So I prairie dog up over the desk - there's a 4 foot wall separating us across the workstations - and give her the raised eyebrow ... "Um, excuse me? What are you saying? Are you making some sort of editorial comment? Are you suggesting there's something wrong with that?" Of course I was saying all this and laughing at the same time, and everyone else was laughing too, but she looked a little startled and taken aback.
Now Blondie herself is a piece of work. One of those always-negative energy-suckers, a black hole of emotional crap. Always a chip on her shoulder. Very defensive - takes every comment as a personal attack. "Wow, Blondie, you look nice today." "What, don't I look nice every day?" You know the type.
I'm sure she didn't quite know what to do with my little performance. Oh well.
I am proud to say my hair colour changes with the seasons, and pretty much always has - at least since I was old enough to reach the drug store counter with the box of dye. From those first disastrous attempts at copper, to the favourite dark brown with blonde streaks, my hair has run the gamut. I joke that I have a winter pelt and a summer pelt. The only time I saw my natural colour for any length of time was when I was pregnant. And guess what? I hated it. A mousey, drab, washed out brown. Now liberally sprinkled with grey at the temples. The two camps have spent a few years amassing at the borders and are now marching around my head, soon to meet in the middle where I'm sure the all-out assault will begin. Bring it on! I'm sure I'll be going to hair-dying parties with my great-granddaughters, so no one will be the wiser.
The other night K was in the bath and we were talking about hair colour - she wanted to know why her friend A's hair was brown and her hair was brown. I told her a lot of people have brown hair, like daddy and mommy. She looked at me and said "but mommy, your hair is orange!" I patted my copper-tinted locks, laughed and said to her "you're right, honey, it is orange."
Guess it's time for another box of dye.
We were doing a story about blonde celebs like Britney, Cameron, et al going brunette in an effort to gain more respect. Um, newsflash ladies, it's not your hair colour that makes people not respect you. But I digress.
Blondie pipes up that she's only ever been various shades of blonde because other colours don't look good on her. Then she remarks that some women haven't seen their natural hair colour in 20 years or more.
So I prairie dog up over the desk - there's a 4 foot wall separating us across the workstations - and give her the raised eyebrow ... "Um, excuse me? What are you saying? Are you making some sort of editorial comment? Are you suggesting there's something wrong with that?" Of course I was saying all this and laughing at the same time, and everyone else was laughing too, but she looked a little startled and taken aback.
Now Blondie herself is a piece of work. One of those always-negative energy-suckers, a black hole of emotional crap. Always a chip on her shoulder. Very defensive - takes every comment as a personal attack. "Wow, Blondie, you look nice today." "What, don't I look nice every day?" You know the type.
I'm sure she didn't quite know what to do with my little performance. Oh well.
I am proud to say my hair colour changes with the seasons, and pretty much always has - at least since I was old enough to reach the drug store counter with the box of dye. From those first disastrous attempts at copper, to the favourite dark brown with blonde streaks, my hair has run the gamut. I joke that I have a winter pelt and a summer pelt. The only time I saw my natural colour for any length of time was when I was pregnant. And guess what? I hated it. A mousey, drab, washed out brown. Now liberally sprinkled with grey at the temples. The two camps have spent a few years amassing at the borders and are now marching around my head, soon to meet in the middle where I'm sure the all-out assault will begin. Bring it on! I'm sure I'll be going to hair-dying parties with my great-granddaughters, so no one will be the wiser.
The other night K was in the bath and we were talking about hair colour - she wanted to know why her friend A's hair was brown and her hair was brown. I told her a lot of people have brown hair, like daddy and mommy. She looked at me and said "but mommy, your hair is orange!" I patted my copper-tinted locks, laughed and said to her "you're right, honey, it is orange."
Guess it's time for another box of dye.
posted by TeeBee at 8:19 a.m.
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