Wednesday, July 07, 2010

Of fibromyalgia and vanity.

Unable as yet to embrace my gray hair, I continue to put myself through the annoying process of home hair color. In hopes of a quick and easy solution, I purchased a different brand than usual. The name, "Perfect 10," was compelling. I mean, 10 minutes away from at least my hair being a perfect 10?

I've often had friends available to do the deed for me while I sit, slipping into a hair-coma. Whether someone is cutting, styling, or even brushing my hair, I get so relaxed I could end up bald and not even care. Never mind that it's much simpler for someone with a view of the top and back of my head to paint my roots.

I launched into the usual scenario--pull out the instructions, put on the plastic gloves, line up the bottles and tubes to be used in proper combination. And all with the promise of only 10 minutes needed to cover those stubborn grays.

10 minutes to do the job, yet an hour later I was still trying to scrub the color from my skin and the area around my eyebrows that now looked like Groucho Marx. I was trying to bleach the color from the sink, the myself seriously raw patches on my face from the scrubbing... *sigh*

Then on to blow-drying my hair, then straightening my hair, because if I do those things it will last for days without doing more than passing a brush through it.

But how does fibromyalgia enter into this picture, you ask? Well, all that holding my arms over my head against the better judgement of my weary muscles leaves me very tired and achy--which can lead to a certain level of personal crabbiness.

Skimmer's Recap: Fibromyalgia and vanity make poor partners.

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