This video was shared on Tulsa Diva’s today — I have to share it with you guys. As women we are sometimes our own worst critics. I love this.
“You look a lot younger on your profile picture than in real life.”
What kind of statement is that? I mean unless it’s retro week or something, I do keep my profile pics up-to-date. I tell people I have a 21-year-old and a 18-year-old. Unless I gave birth pre-puberty, I would think my age is self apparent. Apparently not to some. I do consider the source. The person in question was a 20 something comic who’d not yet met me in person and chose to believe I was younger because I was just starting out in comedy at the time.
Fast forward two years and add a lot more grey hair to the equation and I start believing in better living through chemistry. Clairol chemistry to be exact. Looking in the mirror while at the lake on April 1, I see more grey hair than I do red and the first thing that pops into my mind is, “Oh my gosh, I cannot meet John Branyan looking like this! I have to fix this, now.”
I packed my bags and left my family in the proverbial dust as I raced home to color my hair.
I didn’t have a lot of time. It was already 2 pm and the doors opened at 6 for the comedy concert.
I hit the drug store, bought a new shade of red that promised to cover the grey in 25 minutes and headed home.
I parted, combed, colored, covered and waited for Clairol to work her magic. The end result was splendid in my opinion. By the time the boys got home from the lake, I was sporting my new do. I even curled my hair and put on make up – just to meet John. It was almost 4:30 by time the guys made it home. We rushed out the door to go stand in line for good seats.
The show was wonderful.
Meeting John Branyan and Tim Hawkins (both fellow CCA Comics) afterwards was a huge treat.
John was gracious and kind and said he’s looking forward to seeing me again in Nashville in June at our conference.
Watching Tim lay his head on the table when my son asked him to autograph his butt was truly priceless.
None of that however compares to 24 hours later, at my son’s soccer game when I turn to my husband and ask, “Is it me or are people looking at me funny?”
“They aren’t looking at you funny, they are just smiling.”
“Why are they smiling?”
He is in the danger zone and he knows it. Pausing for wisdom – or an earthquake to eat him whole – whichever comes first, he finally fesses up.
“Well, I’m curious. Did you mean to only color the front of your hair?”
“I mean it looks great, it’s just that you missed the entire back of your head, that’s all.”
I called my girlfriend Michele, who was also at the concert to ask her if she noticed. She did. She thought I did it on purpose and didn’t say anything.
I let her live because in all fairness, we were already there – what was anyone going to do? Still – I went out in public looking like a middle-aged punk rock, 80’s flash back wanna be with big hair and NO ONE TOLD ME!
Alright ladies and gents. Your turn. While I’m shampooing with Prell to strip this back out and try again, I’d love to hear about your fashion catastrophes.
Late breaking news. A hair crisis hit Broken Arrow when we discovered that all new hair growth along my crown and center part appeared to be white. In an effort to hide this Bride of Frankenstein phenomenon, I pulled my hair back in a ponytail only to discover that the hair on my temples is also white.
That can’t be.
Granted, we did have a frost this weekend. But white hair? at 45. Say it ain’t so Joe.
And I did what any rational woman would do.
I tried to bleach my hair blonde so as to blend better with the new white and as quick as you can say “Nice and Easy,” I invented a new color.
Atomic carrot with flames..
and the white roots? are still white.
Since misery loves company, not to mention really cute hats, would any of you like to share your hair fiascos with me?