So a while ago Rosa had been interested in hair colours, especially the unnatural ones she’d sometimes see around town; I followed the only course of action open to me: buying a box of hair chalk for her and Ada to play with. That would be nearly a year ago, and the chalk has seen no child-related action.
Maire has availed herself of it, but the girls have reacted as through they’d expressed an interest in Greek mythology and I’d deposited a nest of live asps in the bathroom and told them to get braiding.
All this changed in the weekend.
I am at an age where grey hair has become part of my life. Amusingly enough, as well as random salt-and-pepper, I’ve developed a hank of hair in my fringe which is solidly white. In my more self-flattering moments I fancy this has a touch of Jason Blood about it.
On Thursday evening I ran some of the pink hair chalk over my white streak for shits and gigles. Most of it rinsed out with my morning shower, but even so there was enough left to attrach the attention of Rosa, who spotted it within seconds of waking up. “Intgrigued” would be an understatement.
Was I aware that some of my hair had, in fact, become pink?
Was this on purpose?
How had this been achieved?
The asp nest was looking a great deal less intimidating. Attractive, even. This line of questioning continued over a several days. Ada was less overtly interested than her little sister, but it turned out this was most likely simply the natural cool that comes with being older. While her little sister scoped out the situation, she was paying attention.
On Sunday the dam broke. Pestering their mother for assistance with the wonderful chalk, the girls disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with riots of pink, purple, red, and blue streaked through their hair, gleefully belting about he house and surrounds. If daddy can do it, it must be a good idea, apparently.