Dyeing to know how to get rid of gray
I’m at the play area inside Mesa Mall, watching my son and daughter run around the plastic, germ-infested fake log, when the mom sitting nearby asks, “Are those your grandkids?”
“No,” I told her, wanting to add, “But since we’re going to make insulting assumptions based on physical appearances, I’m sure you’re absolutely thrilled that Twinkies are back.”
But I didn’t, of course. When it comes to verbal miscues, I’m the worst offender out there, and here I’m thinking of the time when I worked at G.J. Williker’s (now Fiesta Guadalajara) and I innocently said to a female customer who was clearly showing: “Congratulations! When are you due?”
“Due?” she replied, confused. “What do you mean?” I decided right then that the walk-in cooler could use a good, three-hour cleaning.
My being called “gramps” came on the heels of another age-related insult last weekend at a Denver water park.
My son and I are in the sandbox, when this cute little black girl comes up and plays with us. She’s sweet and funny and adorable, right up to the time when she asks me why my hair is gray, when I suddenly realize she is actually a horrific, evil monster.
I had already been kicking around the idea of using those over-the-counter gray-hair dyes and this almost sealed the deal. For some reason I have this need to impress overweight single moms and little black girls.
I shouldn’t be vain. I’m married and therefore have no need to try to dazzle the opposite sex (women). I already have a female locked in contractually who cannot leave me without negative consequences. (I have to remind her of this on a weekly basis.)
So I briefly thought about dyeing my hair, both for vanity reasons and because I’m a sucker for smooth marketing pitches. You’ve probably seen the numerous commercials promoting the hair coloring product “Just for Men.” It seems that when a guy dyes his hair, attractive blondes come up to you and rub their hands through it.
Of course, each morning, I douse my hair with 14 pounds of gel, so that would be pretty gross for them.
The problem is, once you start dyeing your hair, you can’t really stop. You can’t be all black-haired one day, then on, say, Tuesday, suddenly be all gray, as if you were involved in some sort of electrical accident.
My wife’s OK with my graying temples. “It makes you look distinguished,” she said. At the time I was wearing flip flops and a cheap T-shirt from the Sasquatch Casino while sipping a Coors Light. A gray-haired man in flip flops with beer on his breath wearing a Bigfoot T-shirt is not distinguished. It’s more like an eyewitness’ description of a kidnapping suspect.
I don’t understand hair dyeing the way I don’t understand the popularity of Botox. You never look at someone who has just gotten Botox and say, “Wow! That person is naturally pretty.”
You can always tell. Even six months after Botox, their face looks like that of an aspiring astronaut who’s going through one of those centrifugal G-force tests.
The U.S. National Library of Medicine says Botox is “one of the most poisonous biological substances known.” While that may be true, I think injecting poison into your forehead every 4 months is a small price to pay to look good at your high school reunion.
The Journal of the American Medical Association even had an article about how Botulinum toxin (Botox) could potentially be “used as a biological weapon against a civilian population.”
Released in the air, or through food, the article states, it would cause “paralysis, double vision, and speech impediments.” On the bright side, everyone would be very attractive.
Personally I will not get Botox, or dye my hair, or get liposuction, or have anything else done based on some stranger’s insulting remarks.
Unless, maybe, if they ask me when I’m due.