No knitting last night ... I was in Damage Control Mode! Read on ...

Where's a (Hair) Cop When You Need 'Em?
What's the old saying? When we don't learn from our mistakes we're bound to repeat them? Truer words were never spoken. My Hair Cop was lying down on the job this weekend ...

...when he should have been preventing me from getting into hair mischief with this:

I've been experimenting with hair color for years, with, uh, varying results. Back in high school in the late '70s, I turned my naturally dark brown hair a revolting shade of orange with a box of Clairol Quiet Touch ("shimmering highlights at home!"). Did I learn? Noooo. Over the years I've colored and recolored my hair repeatedly. About 2 years ago, I chose too dark a hair color, and had the bright idea to use something called a "Hair Color Remover" that I picked up at the beauty supply store. "Hair Color Remover" turned out to be a super high-powered bleach that literally melted the bottom 4" of my shoulder-length hair, and turned it a mottled white with orange splotches (sort of like a King Charles Spaniel). I could literally pull clumps of melted hair off like sun-warmed taffy. I ran to the nearest hair salon in my neighborhood and begged them to save what was left of my hair. The young woman who was brave enough to take on the job very carefully trimmed off the melted spaghetti that was the bottom 4", and trimmed sort of a shag with what was left (not quite Jane Fonda's do in "Klute" but awful close). Then she colored what was left with the gentlest hair color she had on hand. The result was still rather brassy and reddish-orange, and very flat and not at all shiny. I was lucky to escape this idiotic experiment with any hair at all, so I wasn't complaining. My sister-in-law later confided to me that when she saw me that weekend, she asked my brother worriedly, "Does Amy have cancer?"

Well, it took another year to grow out that mess. And did I learn? Hell, no. My sister and I affectionately call ourselves Beauty Sluts. We're seduced by any new beauty product that comes down the pike. My particular bailiwick is hair color. This weekend I was seduced by a new product by L'Oreal: Coloeur Experte. "Vivid color with multi-tonal highlights at home!" Oh yes, this had my name written all over it. (this is where that donut-eatin' Hair Cop should have put the cuffs on me) So on goes the base shade (Chocolate Macaroon). 40 minutes later, rinsed and towel-dried, we're ready for the lovely, shimmery highlights. I mixed up the highlight solution, painted it on, and waited the recommended 15 minutes. Rinse, blow dry, and ... uh ... where are the shimmery highlights I was promised? Upon further review, I found that I'd mistaken the bottle of conditioner provided for after color care, and mixed it with the highlight powder, instead of mixing in the developer like I was supposed to. The result? No damage, but no highlights either. But I just didn't care for "Chocolate Macaroon" by itself. It's a dark, reddish brown that makes me look kinda tired. I wanted highlights, damn it! But I wasn't about to spring for another box of Coloeur Experte just to get the highlights. OK, Plan B. What do I have on hand to fix this? Hmmm, here's a box of Wella Gel Hair Color in Shade 611 (Sunlight Medium Blonde). Instead of 20 Volume Peroxide, let's add a little 30 Volume to "help" it along (Hair Cop, where are you?). 40 minutes later, it's a little lighter. Still pretty dark, but not quite as bad. And still no highlights. Hmmph. Maybe another application of Wella Shade 611, with a little more 30 Volume? Well, at this point the Hair Cop got off his lazy, donut-eatin' rear end and said, "Nyet!" to another round of hair abuse. Have I learned my lesson? Heh, heh, ask me in about a year. That's when I'll be due for my next Temptation.