I dyed my hair. I had a hormonal moment right before Christmas. I sat in the floor looking at the negative pregnancy test and then drove myself to the store and bought a box of hair dye. This is something that you will understand only if you have ovaries (even if those ovaries don't frickin work). When experiencing disappointment, the first thing a woman must do is change her hair. That's why women cut all their hair off after a bad break-up. We can't help it. It's in our chromosomes.
I bought a box that seemed close to what I remember of my natural brown color. When I stepped out of the shower, however, I noticed that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. My hair was black. And not the kind of black that is really just a dark brown. It was Crayola black. Addams Family black. So black that it was practically blue. That's when I started screaming.
To hear Jeff tell the story, he came running to my rescue, alarmed by my shrieks of horror only to be met by a slamming door and a wife screeching "Don't look at me! DON'T LOOK AT ME!"
When I finally emerged from the bathroom (seventeen shampoos later) he rubbed my back while I cried myself to sleep.
I think that certain products should come with a warning for infertile women, something like PSA FOR TTC: THIS IS A REALLY BAD IDEA.
