I write this post with great care because right now, piled on top of my head is all my hair. Slopped on top of the hair is the illusive Nice & Easy Black hair dye. I found it. Yes!
There it was, sat under cold, illuminated strip lights in the most unlikely of places: Waitrose, Droitwich Spa. I was, at the time, convincing my husband that spending £10 to reclaim the 50p in parking fee was a false economy. He disagreed because of the principle and was berating me further more for threatening to not stop shopping at Waitrose as some sort of lacklustre protest.
Yet, the lure of the £6 bottle of black hair dye for which I had searched in vain was just too much of a pull to not try reclaim our 50p parking charge. I didn’t care, I had the dye I so badly needed that I could trust to not turn my bathroom purple or my hair brown.
To think, all this time I could have just asked my Mother-in-Law to pop out on her lunch break and pick it up for me. I bet she would have even posted it down so I got it as fast as possible. She is that kind of Mother-in-Law. I was at the point where I said: “sod it. I am pulling out the peroxide, stripping out all the colour and making it pink again.” Give me another 6 months for that now.
As I opened my bathroom cupboard this morning, I counted the miniature conditioners in there representing each of the failed dye attempts in the past couple of months. There was the Creme Gloss by I-don’t-kn0w-who, the Superdrug own brand, the L’Oreal it’s not worth it and now, sitting proudly next to them, (or will be when I’ve rinsed this out,) is the Nice & Easy conditioner.
I’ve not put my hair through this much of an assault since I was 18 when my blue 3 inch spikes had a brick hurled at them by some kids by my Mum’s house. To this day I am still not sure what it was that offended those teenagers so much. It wasn’t as though I was trying to infect them with an urge to hack off their hair and dye it blue.
Except it didn’t stop at blue; it was pink, green purple, red, orange (Vivien from Young Ones was my name during that particular phase), yellow or multi-coloured. And I’m not talking over a course of a few years here, this was maybe in the space of a few months. There is photographic evidence somewhere, the ones my mum assumes I should be embarrassed of and not proud.
Then, when I had tried all the colours of the rainbow, I decided to glue, yes glue, multi-coloured acrylic extentions into my spikes and create some individual dreadlocks. First I tried melted bees wax and letting it harden, very faffy. Eventually me and friend gave up and just glued them into my hair with wood glue. Yes, you read that right: I glued fake coloured hair into my own perfectly human hair with wood glue. Just to put this into persepective, this was highly flammable, very heavy hair extensions glued, with wood glue, onto 3 inch long spiked hair.
When I got bored, or more likely too itchy, I just cut it all out, bleached the roots and dyed back to pink or red or blue. Somewhere around the age of 21 I went to the hairdressers for the first time in five years. More miraculously, I have a healthy head of hair that hasn’t seen its natural colour for going on 15 years. My husband once joked that I need not worry about greys because how would I even know I had them? He has a very good point.
So my poor hair is going through yet more torture only this time I know that the dye will last and I will scrape all the blobs of black dye from my ears and nexk with nail varnish remover because after all these years I have still not learnt to apply a touch of vaseline to the hairline before beginning.