Dye Another Day

There are a few stories I am well known for amongst my friends. Stories like the time I got stuck in an elevator, or when I walked on a broken ankle for four hours to drunk to realize. However, the most bizarre story by far is the tale of the time I got my eye lashes dyed to help someone in trouble. I mentioned it briefly on my Stuart's fact list but I was asked to shed a little more light on this strange story.

It started one day when I was still in College. I was in the student art shop looking for (strangely enough) art supplies when a very upset looking girl suddenly approached me. She was almost in tears as she asked for my help and explained her situation. She was a student on the beauticians course and it was the day of an important practical exam. She had to dye someone’s hair. It sounded simple enough. The only catch was it had to be someone with light colored hair and this was the reason for her distress. The person who was going to be her model had fallen ill. She needed to find a replacement fast and since I have light ginger hair she practically pleaded with me to be that replacement.

I wanted to help and seeing what I looked like with dark hair for a little while sounded interesting. So I said yes. She told me where and when the exam was, thanked me again and left. I felt good about myself. I had made someone happy and I went on about my day. Later that day when I arrived she was happy to see I kept my word. After all I was a stranger and might not have shown up. I sat down as the examiner started taking notes. I felt good for helping this girl. She had seemed so upset when she had found me in the morning. I was a knight in shining armor. But then came the question:

“Would you prefer it to be your eye lashes or eye brows?”
“WHAT THE HELL?” shouted my brain.
“Hu?” my mouth said dumbly.

She repeated the question while looking a little nervous. The examiner was standing right there. If I made it to obvious that she left out what part of me would be getting the color change she could lose marks and fail. I tried my best not to let on and told her I wanted my eye brows dyed. She quietly pointed out I might look strange with two caterpillars over my eyes. I told her I wanted my eye lashes dyed. In my mind I was thinking I could just wash it out afterwards.

So I sat there with my eyes shut as she did her work. Eventually it was all done and I could open my eyes. The examiner was happily taking notes. The student asked me if I had any questions so I asked how easy it would be to wash the dye out.

“Oh… it’s permanent.”
“WHAT THE HELL?!” goes my brain.
“Hu?” goes my mouth.

I don’t know if she forgot to tell me these things or she did not want to for fear that I would say no when she asked for my help in the morning. I never found out. I stayed polite so as not to get her in trouble but left as fast as I could.

It was not long before my class mates were enjoying the joke of what had happened and pointing out that I looked like I was wearing mascara. I must have looked like a transvestite who got cold feet at the make up stage. For the following weeks I was wearing sunglasses most of the time, trying to explain to everyone who asked why I looked like a Rocky Horror Show fan as well as spending every available moment in front of a mirror trying to pull my eye lashes out. All that and I didn’t even get her phone number.