Lesson Three in A Cautionary Tale

So ladies, (and gentlemen too if any of you out there are so inclined) a word of advice. Do not ever, ever, ever make the mistake of putting highlights in your own hair at home while your significant other is running a political campaign. Even if you think you're really good at it. Even if you've done your highlights at home before.

Trust me.

If it can go wrong, it will. And if you are anything like me, you'll end up with unnatural orange streaks in your hair.

Well, that's not so bad, right? I mean, I could wear a hat. Wait a couple weeks and see if the color tones down some?

Yeah, that's what I said.

Then I went swimming.

The color got even brighter and more unnatural. Im talking ORANGE. Yeah, that orange.

Still, there was always the hat option.

Then DH comes home Wednesday evening with some information. The guy who is helping him with his campaign has decided that he needs a TV commercial. He's set him up with a professional studio who will do it for practically nothing, because they owe the guy helping DH a favor.

I smile. "Thats a great idea honey. It sounds like a perfect way to get the word out."

I wiggle my toes, secretly thankful that with the advent of the commercial, handing out cards won't be nearly as important.

He grins. "Great! So we'll need to be at the studio Friday afternoon. Do you have any idea of what we ought to dress the kids in?"

I stare at him. "What? We? The Kids? What?"

My hands fly to my orange hair. "Friday afternoon? But, my hair!!"

He shifts his weight and looks past my head and out the window. "Yeah, well...you might need to fix it." His gaze flies back to mine. "I mean, I like it, but it's not very conservative..."

"Uh, Yeah, I have to fix it," I wail. "But do you have any idea how long it takes to get an appointment with a decent colorist??"

He frowns. "Well, you have till Friday. That should be plenty time."

I consider strangling him at this point. Then I realize that my hands won't fit completely around his neck. And then another thought occurs. "The kids are going to be in the commercial? The four, three, and two year old kids? Our Kids?"

He shifts again. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But helper guys says its okay if they don't stay still. We can have them playing in the background as I talk."

I snort, as I envision the kids ripping hundred thousand dollar cameras off shelves and crawling up the vertical section of the green screen. My snort obviously telegraphed the entirety of my misgivings, because DH nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "But we can give it a try and see, right?"

He looks earnest, and my heart does that little fillip it does when he looks particularly adorable.

"Okay, we can give it a try. But I'm not going to be in the office tomorrow, because I HAVE to get my hair fixed."

He looks relieved. "No problem. If you need me to cover any appointment you have, just tell me."

So, the next day, I call my hair stylist.

She's wonderful. Stylish, funny, engaging and always booked for months.

I throw myself on her mercy. I tell her my sad story, and she is appropriately horrified for me. She agrees that I can't possibly go on television with orange hair, and agrees to see me after her last appointment. Even if I DID try to color my hair without her help. I was abjectly greatful.


She stayed until 9:30 pm, and made my hair beautiful. I LOVE her.

And that is why you should never color your hair yourself if your husband is running for office.

Lesson Four involves not trying to use your toddlers in a TV commercial. Especially if there are three of them, four and under. Coming soon folks, coming soon!