Chemical Reaction

It is important, over the Memorial Day weekend, to remember our heroes who made the ultimate sacrifice. It is also important to have margaritas with your girlfriends, and discuss hair color.

Men don't have to talk about single- versus double- process, or permanent versus demi-permanent, or highlights or lowlights or foiling, over cocktails. That is because, as men age, they become "Distinguished Silver-haired Gentlemen;" while women "go gray." This is clearly unfair, discriminatory, and mean. So we deserve our margaritas. Top shelf.

I have friends, beautiful and brilliant women friends, who wear their argent tresses like fine platinum jewelry. They are stunning; and they are in the minority. The rest of us cut our coloring teeth on Sun-In (Extra-Strength for me! Red hair plus Regular-Strength equaled Electric Orange; if I sprung for the Premium Sun-In I could get something loosely resembling "blonde" but most easily described [color and texture] as "shredded wheat.") and there is no patch for our addiction. Also, I firmly believe that if God had intended for us to have gray hair, we would have been born that way.

The trouble is, hair color is very dangerous. You can tell because Nick Arrojo puts on full combat gear before he foils a "contributor." You read it in the warning missives in the drugstore brands:

Do not use on eyebrows, product could cause blindness.

Use product immediately after mixing, to reduce possibility of explosion.

Conduct "patch test" 48 hours before application. Have physician biopsy area before proceeding.

Do not use if you are allergic to strawberries, Tide Laundry Detergent, or shellfish other than bivalves.

Send pets to pet hotel and send children to neighbor's house before applying.

And then, of course, one has to wonder. What's with the gloves? We are putting this stuff on our heads. Right on top of our brains, for crying out loud. The manufacturers see this as normal behavior. But we are supposed to wear gloves to protect our HANDS?

Women become oblivious to the dangers when they combine hair color with margaritas. My friend Laura interrupted my lament. "Nancy," she said, "that's enough. Sometimes it is better not to know." And my friend Penelope, who manages to insinuate herself into this blog even more often than Stacy and Clinton, added (brightly,) "That's why I have someone else do my coloring for me! (puts hands over ears) La,la,la,la,la!"

Why don't you have to sign medical waivers at hair salons?

OK, I've never heard of anyone dying from dyeing. (Oh, I do crack myself up.) But, all those chemicals...I might as well be a

Pest Control Technician.

Penelope called me last week with ants. Tiny dead ants all over her sun room. Also piles of "sawdust," and ant poop on her curtains. My sage advice, since it had been nearly 40 years since I took an entomology class, was to phone an exterminator. Pennie found a company highly recommended in a book the company had paid to be listed in, as a "highly recommended company." Sherman, the highly-recommended technician, stopped by to confirm that she had ants. In the vaulted ceiling. And the only thing high about that company (except, maybe Sherman) was the recommendation. The company didn't have a ladder long enough to reach the problem area. Pennie asked if Sherman could help her find someone with a long-enough ladder. He demurred - he couldn't recommend the competition. She called the main office; spoke with the GM. He would, of course, help her find someone with a ladder. Five days later, no referral, no ladder. More sawdust, more ants. Pennie is, as I type, putting in calls to other highly recommended companies and creating a Ladder Height Spreadsheet.

We once had palmetto bugs. Roaches on steroids. In this part of the world they come in under the sliders, through the holes in the screens, when you let the dogs in, or have a pizza delivered. And, you know how sometimes there is a knock at the door, but when you open it there is no one there? Not the nine-year-old from next door. Palmetto bugs. They are ugly, sneaky, scary and aggressive. Alan The Technician (from a highly-recommended company) treated our house for them 3 or 4 times, but I would still be bugged by a bug once a month or so. In frustration, I asked Alan what I could do to make them go away. He assured me that if I dumped the contents of all the bottles in the liquor cabinet, they would disappear.

Alan disappeared shortly thereafter.

That DID explain, however, all those tiny shot glasses I found strewn across the living room on Saturday mornings; not to mention the lime peels and dirty margarita pitcher in the sink. And why we were always so low on salt.