I had been talking about dying my hair red. I’ve been wanting a change, and envying all the ginger tresses in my life, bottle-got or not. “I’m really going to make the appointment,” I told Brian. But then I didn’t do it. I thought about the myriad of Graduation pictures I would be taking in a few weeks and thought, even if I like it, I won’t look like myself. I decided to dye it the day after graduation.
Then, I thought about it a little more. I’m no hairdresser. My cousin just tried drugstore red to disastrous consequences. I would have to go to a salon and pay vast sums of money to have it done. Spending vast sums of money the first time would mean I had a commitment to uphold – a salon appointment every six weeks or so to get my roots done, investment in fancy shampoo.
It was too late. I had over thought. I was officially not dying my hair, although the yen for red had not faded.
“What do you want for your birthday?” Brian asked me.
“I want a Brian adventure,” I said. This is when he plans something fabulous, tells me nothing about it, and I find out when we get there.
“Dress casual,” he told me. “We’ll have lunch somewhere, and then we’ll go. It starts at 4:30.”
I stuffed myself with tapas at Tu Tu Tango, and tried to guess where he was taking me.
“We’re going dancing, in the late afternoon, and I’m just dressing uber-casual for some reason.”
“We’re attending a comedy show that just happens to start really early in the day.”
“There’s some sort of class at the Botanic Gardens.”
“You’re taking me mud wrestling.”
“We’re cross country skiing, um… in the summer, so without the skis.”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” he said. “Except that most people just call that hiking.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
I was not at all expecting what I got. We pulled up downtown to my hair salon. He booked me an appointment to become a red head. He’s so good at giving me the kind of day I didn’t know I wanted more than anything else.
It’s been a strange change. I have always been a blonde. Any hair dye I’ve used has been to make myself more golden. The first day, I loved it more than anything and couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror. I washed it, re-styled it, and decided on the second day that I didn’t like it after all. It was too much of a change, and who did I think I was anyway? I’m not fun enough to be a red-head.
Today I love it again, more than I ever have.
On another note, Brian was hilarious in the Salon. They have a little vacuum set in the wall where they can sweep the hair and it sucks it up.
“Oh my God, COOL!” said Brian, very loudly. He was impressed that they had wine, too. Before long he had helped pick a shade of red for my hair, and was getting the stylist to regale us with stories of hair color gone bad through customer idiocy. We played Settlers of Catan on his tablet while we waited for the color to set.
“This is way better than my $12 a cut barber shop,” he said. “And there are a lot of guys here too.”
“Male haircuts are $35,” said the stylist.
Brian coughed.
I laughed. There’s a reason I used to only do this once or twice a year. But now I’m a ginger, with a six week commitment.
Today, I’m loving it.
Casey E. Hamilton 