It's Called Brown

Several years ago, a friend of mine asked me what the color of my hair was called. I said, "Um, brown?"

She said, "No, what's it called on the box?"

I said, "I don't dye my hair. This is just the color it is."

She said, "No, way."

I said, "Way."

Several months ago, a former co-worker (who, by the way, uses the same hairdresser as me) asked me if I dye my hair. I told her that I do not dye my hair. Not quite sure she believed my response, the former co-worker asked another co-worker (who also uses the same hairdresser) if I dye my hair. Co-worker number two told her she wasn't sure.

The next time I went to my hairdresser, she told me, "Hey, Becky was in here today and she asked me if I dye your hair." She freaking asked my hairdresser if I dye my hair! Before she quit working at my office, this Doubting Thomasina would occasionally bring up my allegedly undyed hair.

This afternoon, I showed up for my 5:30 p.m. haircut and who was sitting in the hairdressers chair but my former co-worker who accidentally showed up on the wrong date. We had plenty of time to catch up since her mistake caused me to have to wait an extra thirty minutes for my appointment.

While she was waiting for her new highlights to kick in, our hairdresser cut and styled my hair. Here was her perfect opening and, I'll be damned if she didn't go for it.

"So, Laurie, does Tina color your hair?" she asked.

We both told her no.

There we were, finally, all in the same room: Laurie, hairdresser, suspicious co-worker. You know what? I still don't think she believed us.