A couple months back Tess started begging me to put a red streak in her hair. I really thought I had until later in the teenage years and was a little surprised, but I’m easy. Hair grows back, hair changes, if she wants something new then I’m all for it. Besides, it seems here everyone from young to old has a little wild streak in their hair. I’d probably be more surprised if she’d never ask me.
It turns out I’m not a hairstylist. It took three tries to get some dark out of her hair. There must be a magic bleaching trick out there somewhere, but I am not privy to the Hair Magicians Hall of Secrets. Finally, four weeks later, it was time to try adding The Red in. I mixed it up, and unlike the white-ish yellow of the bleach dye, this bottle was filled with pink goo. “No! Not pink!” squeaked my pink-loving daughter.
I finally calmed her enough to squirt pink all over the much maligned streak. I wrapped in foil and parked her in front of the tv. Soon enough more squeaking. “Tess is bleeding! Tess is bleeding! Mooooooooooooooooom!” A little of the pink dye had crept out of the foil and dripped down Tess’ neck, but now it was a deep, dark, red. Not pink. And definitely scary for 4-year-old boys.
Luckily I easily convinced him Tess was fine, her giggling with joy helped seal that deal. Washing out just the bit of dye from her small streak flooded the tub in red. It’s good Dane didn’t walk in then, I would’ve been hard-pressed to convince him that wasn’t blood. It didn’t look very drastic that first night, but it did look red. Now, a week later, it’s a deep burnt orange. Not the red Tess, or I, had envisioned, but a bright streak of color nonetheless.
Despite this picture, it was cold outside but I really wanted the light on her hair, Tess loves her wild streak.