The husband has made an observation.
Increasing numbers of people, he tells me — women, mostly — are colouring their hair. Not auburn. Not ash. Not honey-golden blond.
We’re talking pink. And purple. And blue and green.
Interesting. Not that the husband has been looking at other women, but that he’s uncovered what he believes to be a trend. And a fashion trend at that.
“Would you dye your hair turquoise?” he asked me.
“Heavens, no,” I replied. “I’m far too old for turquoise.”
This is both true, and not true. Yes, I’m too old for turquoise — or forest green, for that matter — but the fact is that I would not be a turquoise girl even if I was 16.
“What else are you noticing?” I asked. “More nose piercings, maybe? Funkier eye shadow?”
“Hmm,” he said. “They may be trending too, but I haven’t been paying attention to that.”
Fair enough. He’s only noticed the hair.
But as soon as he shares his observations, the oddest thing happens. Everywhere I go, I see it too: colours that nature doesn’t offer.
“Look!” I said the other day. We had stopped at a red light and two women had pulled up beside us. One had pink hair, the other, scarlet.
Later that afternoon, it happened again. We were at the local pub and a group of young women sat down next to us. Again, sporting the colours of the rainbow.
They are, apparently, everywhere.
“You know,” I said, “we should try to come up with some names for these colours. Think Benjamin Moore. It would never call purple purple. It would call purple Royal Wedding. Or Samoan Sky. Or Afternoon Wine.”
“Right,” said the husband. “I saw a girl today with, um, Patio Sangria hair.”
“Ah!” I said. “I can see it now! Patio Sangria! And definitely not to be confused with Poolside Sangria!”
“Definitely,” he said.
We went about our business and in no time, spotted a woman who’d dyed her hair the most intriguing shade of blue. I called it Pacific Ice. The husband disagreed. It was Iceberg Shadow, he informed me. No question there.
In no time, we saw a woman whose hair was Morning Glory. Another had hair that was Autumn Repose.
“And what,” asked the husband, “would you call your hair? If not turquoise, then what?”
I didn’t have to think for more than a couple of seconds.
“Brown,” I said.
“Brown?” said the husband. “That’s pretty dull.”
I couldn’t disagree. I could call the colour Cocoa Dust, but in truth, it’s just Boring Old Brown.
