dyed my hair last night. Nothing dramatic, just a tad warmer brown. I like dying my hair. It gives me a feeling of racy adventure, even if the reality is that, unless you gave birth to me, you wouldn’t notice the difference. Oooh, bold: a shade darker on the color spectrum!

What you would notice, however, is a difference in my bathroom. It looked like a crime scene in there. There were gory purple stains dripping down the wall, smeared across the tile. Usually I am very careful when I dye my hair. (My former roommates just did a spit take.) But last night, I really let fly. I don't know what was wrong with me. I was accidentally squirting over my head, letting globs of dye drop to the floor. I’m surprised the cat isn’t chestnut this morning. The problem is that you can’t actually see the damage as you’re doing it. Because it’s dye. It all looks clear until you return to the bathroom 30 minutes later and realize Charles Manson just took his latest victim. But wow, that color really sets well.

It’s mostly cleaned up now. But if the CSI pay me a visit, I have some explaining to do.