Silver Fox

For years I've toyed with the idea of dying my hair.

I've never done it.

Part of the reason I haven't up to now is, I've been pregnant or nursing for much of the past decade during which my hair has progressed from straight brown black to having a skunk stripe to having a white swath across the top. Whenever I've mentioned the idea, my husband has said something sweet like, "I've loved you in all your seasons." or "You've earned every one of those." which has melted me into laughing at my momentary vanity.

However, the amount of grey alarmed me when I viewed a recent photo of myself. As if to seal the deal, my six year old in all her tactful joy said to me, "Mommy, your hair looks really old."

I bought a loving care Clariol can that day.

Opening it in the bathroom, I looked at the happy woman on the box. I worried I would stain the sink. I worried I would stain my clothes. I worried I would look like one of those lego people with a cap of solid black hair on my head. I read the directions. I was losing my nerve. I reread the directions. More nerve lost. Now I taught my kids always to read the instructions three times before starting anything new, so I followed my own advice. The can remained unopened in my medicine cabinet.

But a friend has offered (she does this all the time), to teach me the secret ways of hair color on Tuesday.

I figure, if I screw up, I'll look good at least for Halloween.