Women's woes did not begin when Eve picked the "apple" in the Garden of Eden. No, our shared misery started when she plucked the first gray hair from her head. In a moment of bittersweet revelation, the distasteful word "old" turned her smile to a frown.
For those of us who have since been tempted to do away with the gray, it leaves us empathizing with her pain. We have yanked. We have pulled. We now color. It's the latter that often has us in the throes of agony.
I remember once commiserating with a co-worker who sneaked into work early morning and then refused to show her face because of a meeting with Lady Clairol the night before. Standing outside her locked door, I assured her the bright red glow seeping into the hallway had nothing to do with her new hair color.
Unfortunately, happiness after hair coloring can be elusive whether it's from a home tinting kit or a trip to the salon.
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Recently, a longtime friend asked my advice about whether to finally color her snow white curls. Only, I had counseled Pat, if she would visit a stylist. The change should be subtle, almost invisible; a beautician would trump any do-it-yourself treatment.
Concerned about how to stretch her retirement dollars, she put her locks into the hands of a cosmetology school student with the request to "just warm it up a bit."
This week, I received an email from Pat who is now sure blondes have more fun. Her shocking red hair has taken the bite out of hers. And like Eve, she's gone for cover.