Even before we all went into quarantine thanks to COVID-19, my mother was dying her own hair. She did this due to being both extremely cheap and extremely cautious, only using semi-permanent hair color that she believed would do her less harm than whatever a beauty salon would do.
That all changed a few days ago.
Let’s back up for a second, because this story from when I was a child will give you some good context as to why my mother and I should never be together in the same room when hair dye is present.
When I was about 10 years old, I fought her viciously because she forced me to practice the piano for 20 minutes every day. I literally did everything in my power to avoid having to do this, yet I always somehow ended up on that piano bench. She didn’t emerge unscathed either – I’m positive she shortened her own life span due to the blood clots that she likely developed in her brain from the pure, unbridled rage that came out of her every day.
Anyway, one day, my mother was in the middle of dying her hair when I refused to practice. She flew out of the bathroom, holding her bottle of hair dye, and began her daily tirade, which – being Italian – consisted of many, many hand motions. 30 seconds later and both she and I realized that what had happened during that tirade was not good for either of us. Our entire living room carpet (which of course happened to be an extremely light beige) was covered in dark brown hair dye, which remains there to this day despite multiple professional carpet cleaning attempts to remove it.
It took 26 years before it happened again, but fast-forward to the other day, when we agreed that I would help dye her hair (after completing our 16-day individual self-quarantines, for anyone who’s concerned).
Knowing that I was inept when it comes to these types of things, my mother carefully placed all of the necessary bottles in a straight line, along with the set of gloves and comb I would need. My father was on duty with B, who – though utterly fascinated by the idea that it was this easy to change one’s hair color – was somewhat occupied in the other room. We had all of the necessary pieces to make this a productive endeavor.
The only things we apparently were lacking were brain cells.
I listened to my mom lecture for at least ten minutes about the importance of doing everything in the correct order and to do it “right.” Totally aware that I needed all the help I could get, she even mixed the dye with the activator FOR me to minimize the risk of any mistakes.
We began.
For 20 minutes, I painstakingly combed the dye combination through her hair, casually noting that “Hey, Mom? You said this was supposed to turn brown but it’s not. It’s staying white.” She told me I was over-exaggerating and that I needed to “learn patience.” Having never done this before in my life, I assumed she was right and carried on until the bottle was empty.
As we finished up and my mom grabbed a towel, her eyes rested on the one remaining bottle that we hadn’t used yet. “Hmm, that’s funny,” she said. “Why is the conditioner bottle empty but the dye bottle is full?”
It was at this point that a look of pure horror came over her face. Being totally ignorant to what this meant, I just asked, “What? What happened?” To which she enlightened me that instead of combining the dye with the activator like we were supposed to, we instead combined the activator with the conditioner – which explained why her hair never turned brown.
I laughed so hard that I almost fell to the floor, but my mom then read the back of the box, which said that the activator contained hydrogen peroxide. So we’re currently waiting for one of two things to happen: either all of her hair is going to fall out, or she’ll just go from a brunette to a platinum blonde for the rest of her life.
— UPDATE: it appears as though my mom has emerged unharmed from this experience in all things except for her ego, which has taken a rather brutal beating. Thankfully, she has a sense of humor and is able to laugh at the ridiculous irony of the whole thing – which is good because I will never, ever, EVER let her live this one down. But just in case you ever wondered how I became the mindless mom I am today, we can all now say in complete unison… “I got it from my mama.” —
Love you, Mom. <3