Blondie

Ever since he was a little boy, my son has been my No. 1 “hair” critic. He tells it like it is and has never   pulled back his punches. He has raged, he has ranted but he has never raved about it.  More often, he’s   been horrified or amused.  When I cut my hair when he was four, he would cry every time he so much as caught a glimpse of my short ‘do. Another occasion, he refused to talk to me for a week, except to say, “ang pangit!” and then point at my latest hair style.  His reactions have been so tragic and funny, I’ve actually chronicled some of them. (http://nanayninaki.blogspot.com/2011/04/hairy-discussion.html).

Recently, after moaning endlessly about my increasing number of white hair I just couldn’t hide them any longer, i decided to do something about it. I went to the parlor near our house and picked a nice dark brown color and agreed to some highlights as the parlorista said, it would help camouflage the whites. Call me naive or stupid, but I mistakenly said yes. The effects were, even to my standards, quite disastrous. To put it nicely, instead of a deep chestnut brown, my hair was so light, i didn’t need to buy a gift for the golden wedding anniversary we were attending the following day. I could, in fact, be the gift! Neither was my sister kind in her assessment. She said bluntly, “parang cross ka between Aegis and laos na Japayuki." (My apologies to both)

And so it came to pass that when we got home, my son looked up from his computer, smirked and then chortled uncontrollably. Thankfully, that was it and no other verbal reactions came forth. “Nag-mature na ata,” I thought to myself. My sister and I then tried to undo the damage by buying a much darker color and applying another round of chemicals on my hair and then, prayed for the best. No such luck. When I woke up, my hair was still as bright as sunshine. When my son woke up, he had another round of hysterics when he saw my new ‘do and said, “Well it was much better than last night.”  And I thought that   that was the last of it. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

 A week after that hair color disaster, we had dinner out and the truth was revealed. I caught a glimpse of my reflection bouncing back from a store. 

“Ang blondie!” I groaned in dismay. 

My son, the one  I had just treated to dinner twice that day, shook his head, and said,  “and I thought you'd never top  the melon head'. (the short hair I had that he said made me look like a melon.)

 

  He then followed it up with, “Why on earth would you want to color your hair?”

 In my defense, I said, “Ang dami ko na kayang white hair!” 

“’Nay,” he said, “Weren’t  you the one who told me that white hair’s a sign of maturity? Well, it's about time you acquired some."

Maybe I should just get one of those blue or pink wigs in Divisoria….