I finally have permission to post about this.
You know how everyone’s Ma tells them to accept people just the way they are, rather than trying to change them? Well, everybody’s Ma is correct.
My poor husband has been afflicted with a series of my bad choices. The man has endured ridicule for my mistakes. Here then, is lesson number 429 in “How to Make Your Husband Miserable”.
One night I somehow mentioned to him that his formerly reddish blond hair that is now turning salt and pepper gray makes him look older than he really is. Yeeessh. All I can say is, I believe some wine was involved in that conversation. As is the Big Guy’s way, he mulled this over for some time without mentioning it to me again, while I went on my merry way completely forgetting I’d said that (as is my way).
Last week while I was once again fooling around with my hair color, he said, “You’re right. Go ahead and color my hair. But, you know, something subtle. Don’t make it look obvious. Just make it look better.” Oh foolish man.
I picked what I thought would be the right shade of manly hide-the-gray haircolor and proceeded to apply it. When the time was up, I helped him wash it out and was therefore able to see the color before he did. My heart began doing some kind of African jungle beat.
His hair was black. Black, I’m telling you.
Joe took one look at his head and started hyperventilating. He had to lead a church ministry meeting in an hour and a half.
“I can fix this,” I said. He put on a hat, I pushed him into the car, and we drove to Walgreens, while I sensitively laughed myself breathless. I knew I could fix this, after all.
He paced up and down the haircolor aisle moaning, “What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?”
“There’s a product that removes the hair dye. We’ll take the color out, and then dye it the right color. Look, there’s a sign that says it’s even on sale.”
“THE RACK IS EMPTY!!”
“Shh! There’s more. See? We’re fine.” He hid behind me while I paid and we rushed home.
This product does in fact remove hair dye. However I did not know (and did not notice in my rush) that it actually kind of bleaches your hair. We watched the clock in agony and rinsed it out at the bare minimum time.
I took another look at Joe’s hair and began to pray. His head was spotted. He was a giant upright Dalmatian. Who had a ministry meeting in an hour.
Some parts were bleached. Some had turned a fairly natural strawberry blond color. And there were still spots of black. Joe had tears in his eyes.
“I can fix this,” I said. “We’ll dye the uneven parts and it will all be the same color. Maybe it’s not subtle, but you know, the blonde parts look pretty good.”
Fifteen minutes later he had a relatively even strawberry blond going. He looked in the mirror and sighed. “Everyone’s going to know I dyed my hair.”
“I think it looks great.”
“This is exactly what I didn’t want. People are going to think I need to dye my hair because I’m vain. Or I’m ashamed of my age.”
“I can fix it,” I said. “Run over to Great Clips and get a haircut. That way, people will look and you and think, ‘Something’s different. What is it? Did he cut his hair?’”
Joe returned with a complete lack of those silky curls I love so much. His hair was short. Very short.
When he came home from the meeting, I woke up and said, “How did it go? Did anyone mention your hair?”
“EVERYBODY mentioned my hair.”
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I said, and tried not to laugh.
That is SO hysterical! OMGosh, I’m rolling on the ground here. My stomach hurts. I would have loved to seen the reactions when Big Guy showed up at his ministry meeting!! Way to go getting him to color his hair.