Aselin

Recently I had a bit of unsupervised time to myself. Yeah, not good.

Puttering around convalescing from a brief illness and the obligatory quarantine I was going a bit stir crazy. I don't like to be trapped, and trapped in a house with only laundry to keep me company makes a girl a little antsy. Yes, there was plenty to do, but I wasn't physically up to it, so all I could do was stare at my disordered desk, dusty picture frames and furry carpet with disdain.

Illness messes with my mind. I suppose it does everyones, but I have a really hard time accepting the fact that I can't go on with my normal life while the nature of things takes its course. Fine you say, no one likes to be sick. Yes, I know, but I don't just dislike it, I drag out the drama and start talking to inanimate objects like Tom Hanks in Castaway. It's really not healthy, even for a sick person.

So there I am, wasting away brain cell by sane brain cell when I decide I can't take it anymore. I lurch out of my bed and ensconce myself in my hot pink robe and head to the bathroom where I behold myself in all my Barbie glory. After a moment I have to lean in to make sure it's as bad as my reflection is telling me. My whole face is ashen, swollen and my eyes are bloodshot. At first I look behind me to make sure Lindsay Lohan has not stumbled into my bathroom, but no, it's all me. I stick out my tongue - since that's what they have you do in all the movies when you're sick, and even my tongue is ugly.

I run some cold water and bury my face in the puddle I've collected in my chubby man-hands hoping some of my swelling will erode. Slowly looking up into the mirror, now I'm just a drippy, swollen bloodshot mess, only now I can see - I've got Bride of Frankenstein gray streaks through my temples too. Beauty.

I've always had a bunch of wiry gray hairs scattered through my hair, but they've yet to have a convention and of course this is a particularly good day to do so. I contemplate my generally accepted strategy of pulling them out and realize that the giant bald spots they would leave would not be an improvement so I just give up and start heading back to bed accepting that I will likely die soon so I shouldn't worry anymore.

Halfway back to bed a thought hits me... I've been unsuccessfully making hubby "tint" his hair for years. It wasn't because I didn't like his hair, it was because we both hated it when people asked if I was his daughter and a little tint seemed to mitigate the rate at which that question was popped. The problem was, he hated doing it and so he would tint, and then grow his hair out 5 inches, get it cut and tint it again. Tinting every seven months is not a good strategy if you are maintaining an image and so I finally gave up. Suddenly, the thought that hit me was he still has a bunch of boxes of "Just For Men" hair dye in his vanity.

My own vanity grabs me by the neck and I rummage through his man-stuff fishing out a couple boxes. Sprawled across the bathroom sink I've got my options and their instructions. There is some medium brown, dark brown and one that is particularly interesting to me: "sideburns, mustache and beard" dye. All of the packaging says it targets the gray, takes only 5 minutes and makes the user look appealing to others.

Since my appearance right now would make a badger vomit, that idea sounded good to me. Now my problem is which one to use, and the bigger question: is man hair the same as lady hair? I think it is, but how would I tell? Usually the Internet is the source of all wisdom, but I'm too weak to look it up and apparently delirious enough to throw caution to the wind. That and my plan B was to color each strand with a brown Sharpie, which will take a lot longer than the 5 minutes this says it will take.

Stroking the side of my head I decide that my gray temple hair, were it cut short enough, would be a sideburn so I should probably use the sideburn, mustache and beard box. It has a lot of instructions, and mixing up but I figure if it just targets the gray then I'm gonna be fine.

Right?

Right.

Using the poorly constructed plastic glove they include - side note, why does it have to be a plastic glove made from sandwich bag material. Are springy gloves THAT expensive and hard to find? I know it's a $5 box of men's mustache dye, but really? - I smear the concoction on my "sideburns" combing it in to the ends and effectively making myself look like I have a mullet held in place with an inappropriate amount of hair gel. We know from previous trips to the waxing salon that I didn't have a mustache anymore, so I didn't use the entire tube and was excited I would have enough for a second application 6 weeks from now.

Because this process is an intricately timed endeavor I need to go check a clock. I waddle back to my bedroom where Unnamed Child #1 has wandered in. Our eyes meet and immediately she knows something is up.

"Mooooom?" she says in a very accusatory tone.
"Yep" I nonchalantly reply.
"Whaaaat arrrre yooooou doing?"
"Dying my hair."
"With what?"

Now, for some reason, and I really can only blame the fact that I was near death with sickness, I had the box in my hand. So, like Vanna White, I lift the box and with my other hand highlight my reading skills: "Just For Men Sideburns, Mustache and Beard 5 minute dye."

if you have never seen a teenager flip out, and you want to, I suggest you use Just for Men Sideburns, Mustache and Beard dye in front of them.

The screaming made me get a gut laugh, and she started saying there was no way she could be more embarrassed by me, and what was wrong with me, and how could I, and she would make this her Facebook status if she wasn't so embarrassed by me.

"I'm siiiick" I say, hoping she will feel sorry for me, or finally realize my brilliance that she's been ignoring.

It didn't work.

"HOW COULD YOU? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ARE YOU CRAZY?"

My 5 minutes was up, so I couldn't answer her and headed dutifully to the shower.

While I admit I was swollen, and bloodshot and a bit delirious from the medications, I think I look awesome. I am totally doing this until my husband's stash of unused hair dye runs out.

When I shared my awesome brilliance with her, my hairdresser simply said, "Yeah, I could tell. Don't do that again."

Yeah right. I have half a tube left and lady hair is just like man hair. If you don't look too closely.