This is a story about vanity. And about one very sweet husband who helped me through it.
The other day while shopping in one of those big box stores, I was picking up some baby bath products when I decided to check out the different brands of hair dye a few aisles over. Yup, I was finally fed up with the skunk streak in the back of my head that with every sleepless night and stressful day was just growing bigger. It was time to cover up those silver threads with an $8 box of soft medium brown L'Oreal Preference.
As I was trying to decide how dark I needed to go to bring back that youthful head of hair, I felt like everybody was looking at me. Ah, the poor woman, they were saying, she must be . . . old! Of course they were minding their own business and probably struggling with their own vanity issues, but I felt like all eyes were on me as I perused my choices.
Now mind you this box of L'Oreal sat on a shelf above my bathroom sink for nearly three weeks because I was still in denial about having a "graying" problem. But last night after the kids had gone to bed I asked Tim if he wouldn't mind being my hair stylist for the night. I thought he'd balk but he surprised me with a "sure, why not, I have nothing else to do." Cool. With the solution mixed, he went to town meticulously turning gray back in to brown.
Having my scalp massaged and my tresses tendered, gossipy talk for my "new" stylist just naturally oozed out of me. Usually Tim hates Hollywood hoopla or any details about the drama going on in my friends' lives but because he was in his zone if you will, he joined in.
Before I knew it, I was ready to rinse, condition, and dry my hair. When Tim grabbed the blow dryer from me because he didn't like how I was drying it out, I had to laugh out loud. "Oh my gosh Tim, I think you're enjoying yourself!"
We were both pleased with the results. I feel grateful to have a husband who wants me to feel beautiful inside and out and who is confident enough in his own virile masculinity to show me his feminine side.
(I haven't broken the news to him that from now on, he'll have to dye my hair every six to eight weeks!)