Passionate Plum, I think not.

“Passionate Plum” Yeah, sure.

 

I have let my blogging slip. July didn’t even get a look in, poor pet. My only excuse is pure laziness. I get some ideas, write a draft, then nothing. Need to whip myself back into action.

I have yet again dyed my hair.

During one of my more successful beach trips, I was swimming around in the non-sewage filled water with my sister. Paddling around quietly, minding our own business. Suddenly, she leapt up from the water, thrashing wildly at the area around my head. Frantically jumping up myself I try to swim away from whatever horrible creature was near me.

“It’s in your hair! It’s in your hair!” she screamed.

“What! What is?!” I yelled back, slapping dementedly at my own head.

“The seaweed! It’s in your hair! Oh, Wait. That is your hair.”

 

Two things occurred to me at that moment. One, my sister is far too freaked out by seaweed to be normal. Two, my hair seriously needed to be dyed.

 

The few months it took for the blue to fade into a nasty green, I had more than enough time to decide on what my next colour would be.

Decisions, decisions. I had a choice to make, dye the bottom a semi – permanent colour and hope that it covered the coloured tips. Or bite the bullet and go for a permanent one.

 

There is a much larger selection of semi – permanent colours available than permanent ones. However, I was reluctant to go through the dodgy fading out period that had happened when I dyed it blue. SO, permanent it was. The only colour that appeals to me was purple, so rather promptly “Passionate Plum” was purchased.

 

So, as eager as a particularly excited beaver, I slapped on the dye, all over myself, bathroom and hair. In that order.

 

No biggie. I’m sure it will wipe off easily, yeah its wiping off the tiles no problem.

 

Off the porcelain sink, not a bother.

 

Off the white wooden toilet seats…

 

Off the white wooden toilet seats…

 

White, wooden…oops.

 

I’m telling you, the only thing passionate about that dye, was in the manner which I tried to scrub it off those toilet seats.

 

I was going to be killed. Literally killed. These were the nice new toilet seats that my mother had gotten for Christmas (my Dad’s present to her) that she had wanted for ages. Easily pleased my mother. This would not please her.

 

Every manner of cleaning agent that should never be mixed, were mixed in a desperate attempt to salvage the seats. Every type of brush and wipe.

 

Nothing would work.

 

As a last-ditch attempt before resigning myself to my fate, I tried the last thing left in the bathroom. Toothpaste.

 

I scrubbed that toilet seat with the contents of a tube of toothpaste for thirty – five minuets straight, and somehow it did it. Where bleach had failed, the humble tooth cleaner had prevailed.

 

And she didn’t notice a thing. Except that all the toothpaste had disappeared.

 

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