I became a ginger kid.

Every so often I get the urge to change my appearance. Maybe it’s a new hair cut, maybe I style my hair differently than the swooshy style, or maybe I go as far as coloring it. My brothers and sisters are all blonds, with the exception of two of them. I have no beef with my mother or father for sticking me with the blond hair gene. Today, my hair is a little more darker than it was when I was just a wee little lad.

Probably about 10 or so years ago, I got the stupid idea of dyeing my hair black. It doesn’t work for people with a complexion that is lighter than snow white. I am nearly transparent. I don’t tan when I am out in the sun. I even went tanning before (not sure why. But it was before the germ thing kicked in).

That was an epic fail whale. It was black till I shaved it off. I scared people. No lie. She would tell me everyday, “Oh my god, Kirk. Seriously. You’re scary looking. You look like a vampire. I can’t even look at you.” Then she would walk away. Not one of my bright ideas. That was (until recently) the only time I ever colored my hair.

I have been wanting to color my hair for a while. I couldn’t decide on what to color it though. Do I go black again just for shit and giggles? That would be more grief for me at work than anything. I work with people who aren’t afraid to speak their minds or to be perfectly blunt, I work with people who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut. So black hair was out of the question. I wish I had a picture of my hair like that to show you. It wasn’t something I wanted to remember.

I thought maybe coloring it brown but my hair today isn’t the blond it used to be. I am now more of a dirty blond. So going that shade just would look ridiculous on me. It would probably look worse than the black.

Gray? Yeah. No. I have one gray hair. I don’t want any more than that. The last option I had was become what the world hates more than anything.

A Ginger.

I traveled to the local Wal-Mart and found none. Sure there is an endless supply of women dyeing crap but men have a small selection of hair dyes to choose from. Maybe it’s because women are self-conscienceĀ  about what they look like and need to change their appearance quicker than Larry King does wives.

The blue light special, “K-Mart” was a strike too. I shouldn’t have even brought up that I went in there and was actually going to shop if need be. It’s the poor man’s Wal-Mart. Trust me. That place makes Wal-Mart look like Sax’s Fifth Avenue.

I eventually found myself at Walgreen’s. This place has to have something I can get. I found the hair dye section. Just like before, nothing. Men honestly do not color their hair. I mean we do but not for the same vain reasons women do. We do it to wash out the gray.

Oh. My friend works here. I wonder if she’s in today.

I walk over to the pharmacy and peak over the ledge. She is here. She turns around and spots me. We smile at each other and wave hello. She looked busy. I didn’t want to interrupt her and have her boss scold her. I just waited in the dying patient area for her to take five.

Once aside, we talked about work. More or less, I talked about work and why it’s slowing killing my youthful looks. Could work be the reason I have a gray hair? She offers to help me find a hair color that would be just right for me. I normally am not browsing through the women section of stores. My sears catalog days are well over as well. We find a dye. Looking at the sample on the cover and the 3 outcomes on the back, it was the choice I made. It explained that if you’re hair looks like this, it’ll turn out likes this.

I get home and quickly get to work on it. I shower up and sit on the porcelain princess, reading the instructions. Being a man, we don’t have to follow instructions. But I am messing with my hair and if I don’t want my hair to turn out like this, then it’s best to read it.

The day when I dyed my hair black came back as I scrubbed the solution into my hair. That tingling feeling that burns. It wasn’t painful at all. Just this burning feeling. I roamed my apartment for the set 25 minutes the pamphlet said. My timer dinged and it was time to wash it out. I looked at it. Hmm… Doesn’t look very red. Maybe I’ll do it one more time. So I did. I squirted more in my hair and repeated the scrubbing and the waiting. I questioned myself as I waited. Was that the right thing to do? Is my hair going to be bright orange cause I used too much? But really, I didn’t. I only used half the bottle. I think now about it. How much different would my hair have been if I did use it all?

It turned out quite well I think. It’s was darker the first day but the next morning, it grew a shade lighter. Thankfully, just a shade.

People seem to like it. They say it looks natural. I did eff up the back. I didn’t do the best job at getting it all in my hair. It’s like when I shave my head. The back is the toughest part to complete. I have no regret becoming a ginger. I was worried that I would be kicked, that my soul would dimmer, or I would look like little red riding hood. Nothing so far. Was the “kick a ginger day” just a myth? Or has that day not came to pass or did it not become a national past time?

All in all, I think I must stay being a ginger. I say that now but in time, when the taunting starts, I’ll go back to being a blond. Unless I decide to do something different. But really, what other shade could I possibly pull off?

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I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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