Different people have different reactions to high-stress, emotional periods in their lives. Some folks turn to the Chunky Monkey. I tend to dye my hair blue.



Which brings me to a funny story about Lucy. Two apartments ago, I decided I wanted to dye my hair, but the financials weren't working in my favor for a salon job (much like last night, but, y'know), so I took it upon myself to color my own hair. One box of Miss Clairol later, and I was totally rocking the red. The bathroom, well, it took some mopping, but I got it clean and then got to work.

But here's the thing, I didn't tell Adam. I thought it'd be totally awesome to surprise him with Slightly Different Hair Color! and see if he noticed.

He probably wouldn't have noticed it (let's be honest), if it wasn't for Lucy. Somehow, she managed to get into the bathroom trash and dig out the color-stained gloves and rolled in it. White ferret. Red hair dye. Adam panics.

The first thing he did was taste it, which he later described as tasting like leftover death on toast. From that, he deduced Lucy wasn't hemoraging. Then he washed her off, but she remained, shall we say, rather pink? Concerned, he dug through the trash to see what she could have possibly done to herself, which is when he found the box, which is when he called me at work and had the following conversation:

Adam: Could we maybe not dye the ferret pink?
Sarah: I didn't dye the ferret pink.
Adam: Oh, you did dye the ferret pink.
Sarah: I did?
Adam: You did.
Sarah: She's pink?
Adam: She's pink.
Sarah: Um, I'm sorry?
Adam: Fortunately for you, she thinks she's the prettiest pretty princess.
Sarah: Ever?
Adam: Of all time.

I went home at dinner and was presented with the pink ferret. She managed to get dye on her feet, her belly and the top of her head. Unfortunately, this happened pre-digital camera, so there is no evidence. Just the story.