My three hour "pampering session" turned into, yet another, She who induced nightmare.
I showed up early for my appointment and started looking through books and saw several styles that I thought I might like. I figured I "might" need to cut my hair.
I was called right on time.
The gal asked what she could do for me. At that point, I let my hair down, from the bun it was in, and the poor girl gasped. The look on her face isn't one I hope to ever see again when someone is looking at me.
She quickly regained her composure and asked how I wanted to proceed. Highlights, lowlights, shaved head?
I explained what I had done and what I would like to do. Tone down the Bozo aspect and get rid of the purple/burgundy. She quickly grabbed several stylists, who all gathered around to check out my "outrageous infraction by using a box color." They touched the hair to determine the texture and condition. They consulted. I sat there feeling like a lab rat under the microscope, while they consulted on the best course of action.
It was determined that a brown tone with lots of green would take out the red and bring out a more ashy brown.
The gal slathered the hair with the evil smelling stuff and then excused herself to go make more. She finished slathering the extra stuff on the head and told me we were going to need to leave it on for a full 35 minutes.
40 minutes later we go to the wash bowl. The rinsing and head massage felt good. The silence was deafening. She puts a towel on my head and we go back to her station. The towel is removed and the silence gets even more deafening. The Bozo red is slightly toned down, but the purple was still there.
The other stylists regathered and plotted another course of action. Pull out all the color. Redeposit color. Come in every week, for the next two months, for deep conditioning and hope for the best.
I enter the conversation and said can we cut it? It took a little while for them to understand what I was saying. I finally said that I wasn't married to the long hair. I had short hair most of my life. Did I have enough of the toned down Bozo to have a decent cut without being totally bald?
In the end I spent four hours getting a "total pampering experience", have a new BFF, who is probably terrified to ever see me again and I got a decent cut.
Totally not me, but very up-to-date. I'll learn to like it, maybe.
When Spousal Unit gets home, he can just call me "Red" and I'll call him "Sparky."
PS. The gal had the decency not to charge for the color, only the cut. I had the decency to tip her greatly for her effort.