I have decided to blame the whole debacle on Q-tips and my butt.

Sometime this week we ran out of Q-tips, a fact the spousal unit mentioned along with the words "so you should add that to your shopping list."

I waved my hand dismissively, in one graceful gesture letting him know that I had the situation under control, that I did not need a shopping list to remember one simple fact.

He rolled his eyes at me. I hate it when he rolls his eyes at me.

I decided to do the shopping Friday after my workout. I was standing in the completely mirrored stretch room at my gym obsessing over the size and shape of my butt making sure my form for the various exercises I do there was good, when I noticed that my hair has yellowed quite a bit because I haven't been wearing a hat as often as I should.

I haven't dyed my hair since my 20's when I decided that somehow nature had missed the fact that I was MEANT to be a red head and a terrible error had been made when I was born brown-haired. Ms. Clairol and I rectified that oversight on a monthly basis until I got tired of all the hassle of hair colouring and just let the brown come back in.

My hair turned white when I was relatively young, but instead of going salt and pepper, it would turn whole sections pure white, starting underneath and working upwards. It made for some very odd looking ponytails when I was in my 30's. It's now almost pure white, but it gets this goofy yellow tinge if I don't protect it from the sun when I garden.

So now the stage is set for the horror to come.

After my workout I motored into the village where I shop. First stop the drugstore. As I walked through the door I thought to myself, "I've got to get Q---oooh, look, Tide is on sale!" Sales make me mental with happiness, especially when they represent serious bargains, as this one did.

Right next to the Tide was a bin of hair dye on sale. Special hair dye for women such as myself who are older than dirt. Hair dye that promised to take out the yellow and leave my hair its natural colour. I Took This As A Sign. I picked up a box of it as well, paid for my purchases, and motored home.

That evening I mixed up the dye. "It looks kind of dark," the spousal unit observed. I waved my hand dismissively, in one graceful gesture letting him know that I had the situation under control. "The instructions say not to worry, that's how it looks." I had him help me mix it into my hair.

"It looks kind of dark," he observed again.

I rolled my eyes.

Men.

Thirty minutes later, as per the instructions, I rinsed my hair until the water ran clear. I gently towelled it, slathered on the special conditioner and turned towards the mirror to look at my brand new de-yellowfied hair.

To my absolute horror I found the dye had changed my hair colour.

Gone was my white hair and in its place was hair the colour of cigarette ash.

EEEEEEEEEEEK.

The box says this stuff will last 28 washes and that it won't leave me with roots, so I'm assuming that it's a tint and will fade with time. It better. To date we are four washes down, 24 to go.

The spousal unit, showing the finely honed survival instincts that a man can develop after nearly 29 years of marriage, did not say a word.

About the hair.

Except ... well, this morning after his shower, he reached into the medicine cabinet for the Q-tips

And

Uh

In my excitement over the Tide being on sale and scoring the new hair colour

I forgot to buy the Q-tips.

I hate it when he rolls his eyes at me. Oh, man, but I hate it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 348.96 miles (561.6 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers