I’ve decided to try and color my own hair. You know, use those do-it-yourself kits straight off the grocery store shelf. This comes from years of going to salons from Washington, DC to Los Angeles and forking over more than $100 for a “cut and color”.

The pivotal episode came last fall when I went to a highly recommended salon in Northeast Heights. Yes, I was told “Mr. John” was the one I wanted.  So when the receptionist told me “Mr. John’s next opening was in eight weeks but Tiffany can see you on Thursday”, I hesitated for a moment but took it.

I tell Tiffany that I am tired of my blonde locks and am ready to try something a little different. Nothing shocking, just a nice conservative strawberry blonde. She agrees with me that I would look great as a “red-head” and goes back to mix the exact concoction to achieve my new look.   

As I am “baking”, I voice my concern that the color is quite a bit darker and more violet than I had wanted. Not to worry she tells me, “it just looks that way because it is wet”. When all was said and done, I walked out of the salon feeling like a 40-something Kelly Osborne (Ozzie’s kid). It was NOT the color red I wanted. In fact it was barely red, more of the cordovan family, as in penny loafers. This might have looked great on a 21 year old college co-ed, but I had a middle school book club meeting to go to that night!

This brings me to today when I went to my Albertson’s grocery store and spent 45 minutes on the hair color aisle. The cordovan color had finally washed out and I was back to blonde. I found the perfect color; a daring, yet conservative reddish brown called Copper Starfish. I felt a little nervous with this new endeavor on my horizon, but also excited as I was in control of my own destiny.  

At the checkout, the male checker scans my box of hair color. Standing there in his produce-stained apron and heart of gold says to me “You’re not going to color your hair with THIS are you? You never know what you get in these boxes”. Honestly, I was mortified. Here is a middle-aged stranger, (and male at that) grocery clerk commenting on my hair color purchase. As I stand there, blushing with beads of perspiration glistening my entire face, I meekly say “well, I thought I would just try it”.  

The multi-pierced teenage bagger chick chimes in with “oh, that’s the color I use”. Good God- its group therapy now. We all continue to dissect the fact that I want to try a new hair color and they want to keep me from making the biggest mistake of my life.   

I am at the point that I don’t want it anymore. The box was on sale anyway and who knows how long it had sat on the shelf. Maybe those things expire? Maybe some parts were missing? I wouldn’t know since it was the first time doing it myself. Maybe some ingredients got swapped with another color and I would get something really bad, then what would I do? This was a sign: Don’t do it! 

My guilt-ridden checker now feels horrible and takes back his misspoken opinion. We go back and forth a few times and finally the dear-heart gives me the hair color.  This whole event has made me the talk of checkout #5 and beet red. They tell me to come back and show them how it turns out. Turns out? At this point I am so spooked that I don’t think I will ever be brave enough to try this at home. 

After weeks of staring at the box under my bathroom sink, I get up the nerve to “just do it”. It was a harrowing 25-35 minutes of waiting, but I will say I make a fabulous Copper Starfish. Who says you can’t get what you want in Rio Rancho!