Peri-Menopausal Moments

Why is it we never fully appreciate our minds until we begin to lose them?

I have no problem admitting that I'm a "woman of a certain age"; I usually don't look it, and certainly don't feel it. Until the last couple of years, that is. Oh - I'm not arthritic and bent over from osteoporosis. Rather, a fog has fallen over my mind. Normally extremely organized, able to remember birthdates, phone numbers and the location of my own flat with ease, I now find myself wondering, "What the heck was I doing?"

That this is normal for this phase of a woman's life, and will correct itself in time, does not lessen the frustration. Add to this my extreme fear of making a fool of myself, and you have a recipe for disaster.

To force myself to get over that fear of failure (and maybe to give you all a few laughs), I'm starting an occasional feature called "Peri-Menopausal Moments" - exciting tales of my adventures in the Mind Fog. So - on to adventure number one. Or rather, the first one I'll admit to...

Pride goeth before a fall, or at least before a really stupid move. All week I had intended to color my hair. My old roommates and I were getting together on Saturday, and my roots needed some attention. It's not difficult, nor time-consuming, but I simply didn't take the time until Friday night.

Roll up the bathroom rugs. Put on icky t-shirt. Assemble the "stuff": gloves, color activator, color and the tube of after-care conditioner.

"Boy, the cap on this color is hard to get off. I see they made the tube a little thinner - downsizing even this? Bah, just mix the stuff already."

Cover hair liberally with mix, which seems a little runnier than usual. Check for drips - no, I'm ok. Set the timer for forty minutes (naturally, I have extremely "resistant" grey), head to the office to do some reading.

The timer dings, and I grab the tube of conditioner and towel, heading to the sink to rinse out. What's this? In big, clear letters on the tube "L'oreal Color #5G - Medium Golden Brown". The light bulb finally pierced the brain fog.

I had mixed an entire tube of conditioner with the activator and sat with it on my head for forty minutes.

A moment of panic ensued. Would rinsing it out rinse away half my hair as well? Was the price of vanity going to be the appearance at the reunion of a half-bald woman?

The concoction rinsed out...I can't say exactly how long I spent rinsing, but the hot water began to cool some, so it must have been quite a while. Combing through the wet hair was the easiest I've ever had it - why not, when it had just had an unintentional deep conditioning treatment? Dry the hair. Whew, it looked fairly normal, if a little extra silky.

Now the real question - should I try again? Target had a special, two boxes for a very nice discount; I had picked a set up even though I had a box at home already. So I had the supplies. But did I want to risk it? Would the color even take, given how slicked up my hair was?

Things went much more smoothly the second time, though overall, the color hasn't lasted as long as it usually would. I'm thinking of setting up a little savings account entitled "Money to be used to pay professionals for things Diane should not try to do during this stage of life", the first draws from the pot to be used for professional coloring.

As far as stupid things go, this one was fairly harmless, though I'm convinced it added even more grey to my poor old head.