Frost-A-Lot

     I have just about had it.  Sometimes I wonder how many times other people have said this and how many times they wondered what "it" really was.  I guess every day has begun to run together like one long hike on a never ending desert.  Maybe it's time for a change.  I thought about weight loss, but food is my best friend.  I thought about the wardrobe, but I definitely do not reside in New York.  How about my hair?  Yes indeed this could just change my whole outlook for awhile.
     After making the big hair decision, I called a couple of hair styling saloons.  No way was I going to throw fifty bucks plus tip down the shampoo drain.  Both daughters have a birthday this month and you have no idea what a double princess party costs.  My next choice was to just try one of those frost at home kits.  After all, it couldn't be too difficult. All I really wanted was a few Hollywood blonde streaks to blend into the multicolored mop that already existed.  At this point there was only one teeny, tiny obstacle left to conquer.  I must convince my better half to help.
     After making a delicious, pain in the butt dinner, taking care of kids homework and bath and picking up the homestead, I popped the question.  I was blown away when he agreed to do it.  I didn't even have to beg, bargain or whine.  I put the plastic cap on my head, I pinned the hair back that I didn't want hair color on and handed him the metal hook.  I told him to start pulling strands of hair through the top two layers of the cap while I mixed the solution. It all seems so simple, right?  Let me tell you right now that I'd rather birth triplets than go through an excruciating hour of pain with an uneducated froster.  Since it took him an hour, I decided to just pull the bangs through by myself.  When I glanced over and saw him putting the rubber gloves on, I knew real fear.  My next instruction was to just slather the mixture all over the plastic on my head.  Although the stench was overpowering, the coolness of the peroxide paste was somewhat soothing to my tortured scalp.  Now all I had to do was wait either 20 minutes or 40 minutes, whatever worked best first.
     So, I decided to wait an in between amount of time, about 30 minutes.  I jumped into the shower, pulled the cap off and shampooed my hair.  I'd been through this process so many times with a professional, I didn't even bother to glance before the rinse.  As I toweled my golden streaked locks, I happened to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror.  I'm sure the scream could be heard worldwide.  My hair had orange and pink streaks in it.  What was I going to do?
     The next few hours went by in a blur.  I called Mom crying and she called a stylist friend of hers.  She arrived with my mom and chemicals in tow.  It took much longer to fix it than it took to mess it up.  Finally, the results were acceptable for public viewing.  Mom was a wee bit irritated that she had to shell out a cool hundred dollar bill to get me up and going.  As I walked to class, I wonder how annoyed she would have been if she had seen the multitude of hair colors on campus that following morning.