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The Day I Dyed This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   I put on the special gloves that smelled like melted plastic. Carefully, I poured the clear liquid into a small container which already had a thick chestnut-brown liquid in it. I shook the bottle well. Was I doing a science experiment? No. Making some sort of explosive? No. I was dying my hair ... again. Earlier in the year I had put Sun-In in my hair. When my roots began to show, I dyed it again. The result was hunter green, so I dyed it again. The new look was nice but I got sick of that red-orange color. So here I was dying it again.

I bought dye that matched my natural color. Just thinking about the possibility of having hair all one color made me giggle with joy. Maybe I was too happy, because I became careless. Splat! Some dye dropped on my pastel yellow carpet, but I was too involved to notice. Following the box's directions, I waited 25 minutes before I pranced like a deer into the shower. I dried my hair and was very pleased with the results. It even smelled nice. I had done a good job.

As I patted myself on the back, I walked into my room. Immediately my eyes saw the damage. A palm-size brown spot was on the rug. I screamed and swore. What am I going to do?! I wracked my brain to think of a way to get the spot up. First I made a soapy mess with hand soap. When I realized I was getting nowhere, I asked myself, When clothes get stained, what do you do? Bleach! Yes, that's it! I poured some on the spot, and scrubbed and scrubbed it. Not only was the smell making me nauseous, but the carpet was turning white. I was upset. What was I going to do? I glanced at the clock. My mother would be home soon and she would murder me! Then it came to me - the idea of a lifetime! I'll move the furniture. After taking the drawers out of my bureau, I exchanged the positions of my bureau and bed. It looked good. Again, I patted myself on the back. But there was still one problem: the room reeked of bleach. I thought, What smells good? Instantly, perfume came to mind. Quickly I found some Vanilla Musk which I sprayed on everything. The lampshades, bed, carpet, fan, flowers, walls, windows, closet, cat, door - all doused in perfume. At first it smelled good, but then it was making me sick. Whoever said that you can never get too much of a good thing?

As I glanced around my room to make sure everything looked right, the garage door opened. My mother was home. Quickly I turned on the TV and tried to act casual, as if nothing had happened. She came into my room and commented on its new look.

"I like what you did, Taylor," she said.

"But, do you notice anything else different?" I asked, hoping she'd notice my hair.

"Not really," she said looking around.

I was very upset. After all I had done, she never even noticed my hair. I was ready to scream. I could understand if it were my father, but not my mother! How dare she not notice her only daughter's new hair color?

My mom left my room and I was left to wonder if she suspected foul play. I think I'll tell her why I really rearranged it in, like, ten years when I don't live there anymore. I laughed. As I thought about that, my mom came back and looked at me carefully. Yes! She'll say something about my hair! My mom actually cares!

"Taylor," she said. "You should really clean your room. It smells horrible!"

"Gee ... thanks, Mom." c


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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