So when he told me, in passing, that I should try washing my hair with White Vinegar, just like the Victorians did, I thought it a grand idea.
Vinegar, you see, was used as a clarifying rinse, and truly does leave your locks silky, shiny, and soft.
What he failed to mention is, should the Vinegar gets in your eyes, you will be instantly blinded for several excruciating minutes, and will experience a pain that can only be described in words and phrases inhuman and unpublishable.
On that fateful morning last week I was running late, as usual, for an appointment. As I prepared to bathe, running around Chestnut House in a panic fueled by equal parts caffeine and adrenaline, Ron's "Vinegar tip" popped into my head. Hopelessly late, ill-prepared, with various pieces of my outfit scattered over three stories of the house ... YES! - this was the perfect time for me to try an untested beauty treatment during a leisurely soak.
Step One: Pour two cap-fuls of White Vinegar on your hair.
Step Two: Brush the Vinegar through your hair to remove impurities and
Step Three: Hope Death comes quickly as the toxic mixture of chemicals,
hairspray, dirt, acid, and Vinegar runs down your forehead
and into your eyes, making you scream obscenities in ancient,
primal languages, and claw atyour retinas in helpless despair,
praying that you will pass out and the painwill soon be over.
As a lot of you know, our 2nd floor bathroom is decorated in a Nautical theme that is less "Ralph Lauren" and more "Jules Verne". Vintage beadboard wainscotting, giant rusty pipes meandering through the walls, macabre paintings of multi-masted ships crashing on craggy shores, and, the pièce de résistance, a twenty-foot long rope and twine crab net hanging inches above the claw-footed tub.
Originally intended to catch crustaceans in the Black Sea some 100 years ago, this net did a fine job of catching me as I leapt from the tub - blinded, screaming, and flailing. As I tried, pitifully, to extract myself from the trap, I found the lip of the tub (with my left shin). Bruised, but not beaten, I threw my right leg out of the water. My foot slammed down on what I thought to be the warm safety of a bath mat. Unfortunately, it was not a mat, but a miniature Schnoodle sleeping peacefully on the cool bathroom floor.
The confusion of being awakened by me, naked and blinded, crashing onto him with a tangled net was too much for the little dog. He jumped, startled, right into the middle of the fray.
After what seemed like hours, I freed myself. Tugging on Dorian like a Chinese Finger Trap, eventually I extracted him from his knotted confines.
I arrived at my meeting half an hour later, with bloodshot eyes, mismatched socks, and a hard-earned luxurious mane.
Oh, and the Vinegar? It's back in the kitchen, where it belongs, but, sometimes, late at night, I can hear the muffled whispers of it plotting its' next vicious attack with all the other condiments.