"dyed" at the hairdresser was an expensive and extensive undertaking. For the most part,
she could color her own hair. However, streaking (now referred to as highlighting, I think)
was a problem. The kit consisted of the solution, a close fitting shower cap with little holes
and a crochet-hook like instrument for pulling strands of hair through the head-cap holes.
Since this procedure would be difficult to do to yourself using a mirror, our friend, Martina,
and I magnanimously offered to do it for her one hot and humid summer day. Martina lived a few doors up the street from us on Tholozan, and we called her "Little Ray," not after Ray Charles but because she called herself our "Little Ray of Sunshine."
The beginning of the streaking went well. Mom sat down on a kitchen chair we had put in
the middle of the room so we could have a 360-degree access to her. From that point on
we gradually began to lose control of the situation. We put the cap on Mom and tied it
under her chin as directed. This was when she had her original nose, referred to as her Roman
nose on many occasions. This caused a little giggle from her two pseudo hairdressers. Then
there was a slight difference of opinion as to what to consider a "strand," the recommended
amount to pull through the holes. Also, how many of the holes should be used, surely not
all of them. While Martina and I discussed these finer points, my Mother kept asking, "What's
going on?" "What are you doing now?" "Don't do anything until I look in the mirror."
We kept reminding her she was savings oodles of money and we knew exactly what we are
doing. Half of that statement was correct: it was a lot cheaper to do these treatments at
home. Our demeanor went from mirth to giggles, to tears-in-the-eyes, clutching- your-
sides, bend-over laughing. We couldn't get the strands of hair through the tiny holes. The
more we tried, the more stress it put on the cheap cap. Then the cap started to tear apart
in several places. Martina and I were having a great time and my Mother kept saying, "Don't
do anything until I see it."
Finally, we were able to pull a decent amount of hair through several of the tiny holes. At
that time, we agreed she could look in the bathroom mirror to see our progress. Once she
saw herself in the mirror with the head-hugging cap, strands of hair standing straight up
and around her head, and her Roman nose, she lost it too.
We had to calm down because we still had a long way to go. The instructions called for the
solution to be brushed onto each strand of stand-up strand. This was easier said then done.
Wearing the plastic gloves (we each had one from the kit) we began to apply the dye to as many
strands as we could. But each time we tried to saturate a strand with the dye it would
pop back up. This project was taking a lot longer than we had anticipated. We worked
meticulously and finally completed coloring every available strand. Now, we had to wait
thirty minutes and follow up by rinsing the excess dye off under the kitchen faucet. We used the spray attachment to cover a greater area and a gentle approach to the tiny strands. Of course, whenever a spray attachment is used in any capacity, it inevitably results in dousing the
people who are using it. We followed in this hallowed tradition.
Finally, we toweled her hair dry and looked at our masterpiece. Her hair looked exactly
how it did before we began working on it, three hours ago. The three of us assured ourselves
that once it was completely dry we would see better results. So, we went outside, on the back
porch, and waited. Eventually, her hair did dry. And it was all still the same color it was
before we began the treatment. As I recalled, this didn't seem to upset any of us and in
fact caused another fit of laughter.
The next day, Mom made an appointment to have her hair streaked professionally. If I
recall correctly, the salon (aka: beauty shop) charged about $10 to $20. Why didn't she
do that in the first place? Well, back then, the home kit cost only a few dollars.
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