My Face is as Red as Half of My Hair


“You look a lot younger on your profile picture than in real life.”

Thank you?

What kind of statement is that? I mean unless it’s retro week or something, I do keep my profile pics up-to-date. I tell people I have a 21-year-old and a 18-year-old. Unless I gave birth pre-puberty, I would think my age is self apparent. Apparently not to some. I do consider the source. The person in question was a 20 something comic who’d not yet met me in person and chose to believe I was younger because I was just starting out in comedy at the time.

Fast forward two years and add a lot more grey hair to the equation and I start believing in better living through chemistry. Clairol chemistry to be exact. Looking in the mirror while at the lake on April 1, I see more grey hair than I do red and the first thing that pops into my mind is, “Oh my gosh, I cannot meet John Branyan looking like this! I have to fix this, now.”

I packed my bags and left my family in the proverbial dust as I raced home to color my hair.

I didn’t have a lot of time. It was already 2 pm and the doors opened at 6 for the comedy concert.

I hit the drug store, bought a new shade of red that promised to cover the grey in 25 minutes and headed home.

I parted, combed, colored, covered and waited for Clairol to work her magic. The end result was splendid in my opinion. By the time the boys got home from the lake, I was sporting my new do. I even curled my hair and put on make up – just to meet John. It was almost 4:30 by time the guys made it home. We rushed out the door to go stand in line for good seats.

The show was wonderful.

Meeting John Branyan and Tim Hawkins (both fellow CCA Comics) afterwards was a huge treat.

John was gracious and kind and said he’s looking forward to seeing me again in Nashville in June at our conference.

Watching Tim lay his head on the table when my son asked him to autograph his butt was truly priceless.

None of that however compares to 24 hours later, at my son’s soccer game when I turn to my husband and ask, “Is it me or are people looking at me funny?”

“They aren’t looking at you funny, they are just smiling.”

“Why are they smiling?”

He is in the danger zone and he knows it. Pausing for wisdom – or an earthquake to eat him whole – whichever comes first, he finally fesses up.

“Well, I’m curious. Did you mean to only color the front of your hair?”

“WHAT?”

“I mean it looks great, it’s just that you missed the entire back of your head, that’s all.”

NICE.

I called my girlfriend Michele, who was also at the concert to ask her if she noticed. She did. She thought I did it on purpose and didn’t say anything.

I let her live because in all fairness, we were already there – what was anyone going to do? Still – I went out in public looking like a middle-aged punk rock, 80’s flash back wanna be with big hair and NO ONE TOLD ME!

Alright ladies and gents. Your turn. While I’m shampooing with Prell to strip this back out and try again, I’d love to hear about your fashion catastrophes. 

2 thoughts on “My Face is as Red as Half of My Hair

  1. And then there was the time that I taught at a Christian school here in town (shall remain nameless) and I bought the wrong shade of red. You know what I mean. I bought the ‘blue’ red rather than an ‘orange’ red. And this was when I wanted to be REALLY red as opposed to a stylish auburn to hide the gray that is not all gray yet and really cool-looking but just enough to look really dowdy. Not the effect I’m going for. So, I colored my hair and under the fluorescent lights at school, my hair looked…purple. And at class breaks, kids from all over – having heard that Ms W had purple hair – came in to look at it. And the…shall we say, the fringe crowd…wandered in to congratulate me as they felt I was STICKIN’ IT TO THE MAN by coloring my hair purple. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that this was not a fearless act of individuality in the face of mindless conformism but rather just ol’ me pickin’ the wrong box and winding up with a wierd color on my noggin…And let’s not talk about the time I decided to frost my hair blonde and my own father didn’t recognize me at his 40th wedding anniversary party…

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