On a Rainy Sunday Afternoon

MonkeyBoy is napping, after employing an impressive array of stalling tactics; Chickadee is engrossed in Stuart Little (the movie, not the book) and working on new and creative hairstyles involving not less than a score of clips and ribbons, and copious quantities of glitter spray.

I have taken advantage of a momentary lull in my maternal duties to touch up my hair colour. Imagine, if you will, that a faint cloud of ammonia and poorly masking aromatherapy essences engulfs you as you read.

I've been colouring my hair since I was 18, when I discovered Body Shop's Extra Red Henna. That was a serious commitment, requiring 4 and a half hours of mud-encrusted hair wrapped in Saran wrap to develop it's full colour. I was in university, so the time was available. Then I discovered the temporary colours - gone in 6 shampoos - and embarked on couple of years of jewel toned coifs, amethyst, garnet, ruby ... the more unnatural, the better. After graduation, I started using more permanent colours, mostly in the auburn and burgundy range, with occasional forays into blue-black (not a good look, I must admit). By the time I was pregnant with Chickadee (and thus unable, or unwilling, to colour), my hair had an alarming amount of grey in it - far to much for my not-quite-30 ego. So colouring ceased to be a fashion statement and became a necessity. Still, I managed a run of over 15 years without ever using the same colour twice in a row. I had a serious novelty habit.

Now, I'm trying to grow my hair long, and have committed myself to a single colour for the duration: Feria Chocolate Cherry. It's a nice, dark burgundy, and I quite like it, although it has a tendency to fade to orange as it ages. But one of the woman at work showed up this week sporting a gorgeous dark plum shade, and I covet her colour.

It's taking all of my willpower not to ask what she used. And I just saw an ad for a new streaking kit, in bright burgundy, that calls out to me.

Oh, the temptation ...