This morning I got up not-so-bright and early, and headed to the supermarket, where I purchased the bottle of Head & Shoulders Citrus which I should have just bought the second this whole “orange hair” saga started. Well, you know me: if there’s an easy way to do things and a difficult way to do things, I will choose the difficult way every time. Every time.
Well, I came home and shampooed my orange hair with it. Then I shampooed it a second time, just for luck. And I had absolutely zero hope of this making even the slightest difference. In fact, so zero were my hopes that when I got out of the shower I sat at my desk, still wearing my towel-turban, and started frantically Googling the phrase, “OMG, everyone always says red hair dye fades quickly, but mine won’t fade AT ALL, EVER, WHY?”
Then I blow-dried it and…
YOU GUYS, IT WORKED.
(Actually, this photo is from a couple of days ago, when it was still totes orange. But the orange was so camera shy and elusive, the pimpernel of hair dye, really, that this photo totally failed to show the extent of the orange, so I’m using it anyway.)
Well, I mean it sort of worked. It’s still a little brassy, and I have a couple of orange-ish streaks at the temples, like a reverse Geri Halliwell, but the good news is that I can finally stop talking about this now, and I think we’re all glad about that. In fact, how about we change the subject rightthisverysecond, and start talking about… hmm, let’s see: how about The Others, instead?
You know that thing they do? Where you’re standing in line somewhere, like a supermarket, say, waiting to pay for your magic orange-removing shampoo? Everyone is standing there patiently, in a neat, orderly queue, such as we British are famous for, and then suddenly an Other appears and, rather than simply joining the queue, like everyone else did, the Other just kind of stands there, open-mouthed, gazing at it. And everyone already in the queue feels a bit awkward, really, so they all shuffle forward a bit to make room – even although there is ALREADY PLENTY OF ROOM – but the Other still doesn’t join the end of the line. Instead, he tries to kind of MERGE with the line, singling out the orange-haired girl at the end of it – the one who’s standing there thinking, “please not me, please not me, please don’t try to merge with me,” and then coming to stand BESIDE her rather than BEHIND her, which is the normal queuing etiquette. And then, every time she moves forward, The Other moves forward, too. And every time the orange-haired girl looks at the Other, all, “This is my space: don’t you even THINK about trying to steal my space or I will cut you,” the Other simply smiles benignly, as if to say, “Gosh, isn’t this fun, us simultaneously occupying exactly the same spot in the queue? Also, as soon as you get to the front, I’m cutting in front of you. Have a nice day!”
That happens to me EVERY SINGLE TIME I have to stand in a line for something. EVERY time. It’s like I have some kind of sign on my head which reads, “Hey, Others! If you’re looking for someone to make uncomfortable in the queue, I’m your woman!” A bright orange sign, naturally…