A long time ago, in the galaxy that was my hometown, I was living back at home with my parents after college. I had just graduated, with a teaching degree and a major in Drama & Speech with a minor in English Language and Literature. Where was I working? Nowhere. I couldn’t find a job. I was in a play. That’s about it.
Bored, living at my parents’ house with very little cash on hand, I needed a change. As is often the case with me, ‘boredom’ equals ‘time for a change.’ Not a drastic change, because my nickname was Cautious Claudia, just a wee one. In those days I got my hair cut at a salon called, of all things, Foxy Lady. Oy.
Frosted hair was very in at the time. Do you remember those days? Women loved getting their hair frosted. I saw it everywhere and it got me to thinking. Maybe I should try it. Not for me the fully frosted look, but….what about some subtle highlights around the face? Some very subtle golden streaks? The word ‘subtle’ was playing over and over again in my brain.
Yes, subtle.
So, I made an appointment at the aforementioned Foxy Lady. I was going for it. The day of the appointment dawned. When I arrived, I spoke about what I wanted.
“Some very subtle frosting around my face. So subtle that it looks natural. Not too much, just a little. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”
“Absolutely! Of course!”
I sat back in the chair, convinced I was in good hands. Time passed. I read some magazines. Finally the moment arrived. Time for the unveiling. Completely sure that I would see the look I had dreamed of, I eagerly awaited the results.
I had a single 3 inch wide streak of platinum hair. Right above my forehead.
I looked like a skunk.
Horrified doesn’t begin to describe my feelings. All the ladies who worked there gathered round, oohing and aahing over my new look. They were thrilled! I was not.
In those days, my friends, I was not very assertive. I was shy. It was hard for me to speak up for myself.
So I never mentioned that I was stunned. I never asked them to ‘change it back!’ I simply paid, walked out to my car and sat there crying. When I walked in the door of my house, my mother gamely tried to mask her shock upon seeing the results. So did everyone else. They quickly assured me that I looked great, that it was daring and fun, that it would grow out anyway, not to worry.
I kept crying.
Eventually, since I was doing a play and had some latitude as to attire, I wore a bandana over my hair. Every single day. You know the look: bandana folded into a triangle and tied at the nape of the neck. Luckily, this was the in look at the time, so I was able to hide the dreaded skunk streak.
Months went by. Slowly the streak started growing out. It began to look a bit less startling. Brown hairs mixed with platinum and it did indeed become subtler. But I still hated it.
That Christmas, the boy I had a crush on all through junior high and high school, who went to my church and whose move to California at the beginning or our senior year in high school broke my young heart, came back for a visit. He came to church on Christmas Eve and came downstairs to the choir room to say hello. I hadn’t seen him in over five years. How did he see me after all this time?
With a skunk streak.
Ah well. By the way, that boy and I lost touch for many years – decades. He married and had twins. I married. He still lives in California. Eventually, we connected again via Facebook. That’s what I love Facebook for – reconnecting with old friends. I’m hoping that he doesn’t remember the skunk streak. But I sure do.
Did you have any hair horror stories?
Don’t forget my book review. Just scroll down one post to see it. The publisher has been very generous and I have up to 5 copies to giveaway. Leave a comment at the end of that post.
Happy Friday.
