Lime in Limon

Lime in Limon
A true-life embarrassing moment

         I loved camping as a child.  Out in the open I had freedom, space to think, and quiet time to contemplate and imagine the stories that occupied my mind.  My husband’s family, however, had never tried it.  Tim and his father were surveyors and spent all day, every day outside working.  When the weekend came around, the last thing they wanted to do was pack up a lunch and go for a picnic, let alone spend the night outdoors.  No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t overpower Tim’s work-skewed lack of enjoyment for being out of doors in the fresh air and sunshine. 

         “I’m sorry,” he’d say, justifying his position, “I just don’t see the charm of sleeping on the hard ground in the woods while perfectly good hotel rooms sit empty just down the road.”  Picnics he would eventually tolerate, but camping was out of the question.

         His siblings were considerably older than he was; both being married and out of the house by the time he reached his tenth birthday.  His childhood travel experiences were quite different from the memories I had.  See "The Gold Cadillac Memoir" 

         Tim’s resolve began to weaken little by little, and after twelve years of marriage he finally agreed to give camping a try.  My brother lived half way across the United States so we planned a camping vacation with his family, meeting in Colorado and going on from there.  I hadn’t seen my brother and his family for over five years so I was excited about the trip.

         A week before our departure I did something daring: I dyed my strawberry blonde hair to match my daughter’s blonde curls and I was very happy with the results.  The van was packed several days ahead of time in anticipation.

         We were so anxious to get underway that we couldn’t sleep and decided to leave around 3:30 am.  I carried four-year-old Nathaniel to his car seat, still asleep in his pajamas while Tim roused the girls and led them to the garage.  Safely strapped in, they soon fell back to sleep although they were excited to be setting out towards the Rocky Mountains.  I grew up in those mountains and felt like I was going home. 

         The first night we stopped in Limon, Colorado, about two hours from where we planned to meet up with my brother the next day. 

         Tim’s lack of familiarity with camping won out and we rented a room for the night.  After a long day of travel, the pool was irresistible.  Nathaniel loved the water and had no fear at all.  He’d step off the last step and go under without a care in the world, causing us much anxiety.  The girls were more timid and fearful, sticking closer to the edge.  After an hour of splashing, floating, and playing tag we decided it was time to go get some dinner. 

         As I loosened the elastic band and let my hair fall over my shoulders, the girls covered their mouths in shock.  Nathaniel’s eyes grew wide and Tim snickered, turning his head hoping I wouldn’t see.

         ”What?” I asked, growing annoyed.

         Ten-year-old Heather knit her brows together with concern.  “Mommy, your hair…” she began.

         I reached up and ran a hand through my long curls, pulling them forward to see what the fuss was about as six-year-old Fallon interrupted.

         ”Your hair is green!”

         ”Yup, green as a shamrock,” Tim confirmed in his best Irish accent.  Unable to restrain his laughter any longer he let out an ear-splitting blast as another family walked into the pool area, took one look, and left.

         There I stood:  dripping wet, in a small, conservative western town, on the first day of a two-week vacation… with green hair.

         ”What town are we in, Daddy?” Heather asked innocently.

         Tim looked at her and howled with laughter. 

         ”We’re in Limon, Colorado,” I said, rolling my eyes and covering my hair with a towel.  I could see Heather’s mind working and I knew exactly what she was going to say.

         She looked at me as her eyes widened with a revelation; she bit her lip, trying to keep from blurting out her inevitable conclusion.  She looked at the ground and swirled the growing puddle of water with her big toe and whispered, “Mommy’s hair turned lime in Limon.”

         I felt my breath catch in my throat and didn’t know if I should laugh or cry, so I did both.  Heather sighed, relieved I wasn’t upset with her comment but Fallon and Nathaniel clasped hands and danced in a circle around me chanting, “Mommy’s hair is lime in Limon.”

         I had no idea what to do.  I’d never dyed my hair before and hadn’t even imagined the color would react with the chemicals in the pool.  What was I going to do with green hair?  I wanted to pack up and go home right then.

         As we walked through the lobby, Tim stopped and asked, “Is there something wrong with your pool?”

         ”I… I don’t think so,” stammered the girl at the counter.  “It was repaired last week and the tiles were cleaned and regrouted.  Why?  Is there a problem?”

         Tim reached out and loosened the towel I’d tightly wrapped around my hair.  “Does this answer your question?” he asked, pulling the towel away.

         The girl’s mouth gaped as she saw my shamrock green hair.  After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the phone and spoke with the maintenance man.

         Dialing a second number, she explained, “My niece’s hair turned green in the pool once, but nothing like this!  My sister is a beautician.  She’ll know what to do.”

         She wrote down our room number and told us to wait there for her call.  We changed out of our wet bathing suits and waited.  The phone jingled to life on the bedside table.  “Yes… okay… I’ll tell her… Thank you.” 

         Tim relayed the conversation:  “The lady at the desk called her sister.  She’s on her way with everything needed to get the green out of your hair.  She should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

         ”Why don’t you take the children and find somewhere to have dinner,” I suggested.  “I don't know how long this will take.”

         Tim and the children left as the lady arrived at the door with her sister. 

         I can't recall how many times we treated and rinsed my hair that evening; I lost count after we reached ‘ten’.  When we were finished, we’d cut four inches from the length of my hair.  It was a dry and brittle as straw and the peroxide had taken the blonde shade even lighter, but the green was finally gone.

         After being ‘lime in Limon’, the rest of the trip was comparatively uneventful. 

         Tim enjoyed his first camping trip and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me camping was so much fun?”

         Having experienced several different hair colors in a matter of  days, I decided I wasn't meant to be a blonde and went back to my natural strawberry.  Years later we traveled west again.  Heather, married by this time, had recounted the tale to her husband. 

         Upon arriving in Limon, Colorado Chad asked coyly, “Would anyone like to go swimming?”

         I glared into the back seat of the van and raised an eyebrow as everyone broke out in laughter.

         ”Aww, come on ‘Mom’,” he coaxed.  “I think you’d look pretty cool with green hair.”

         ”You should do it, Mom,” Nathaniel urged.  “This time we’ll take a picture because I was too young to remember it from last time.”

         I looked at the snickering bunch and shook my red curls.  “Not a chance, buddy.  Not a chance.  I might go green with envy or show off a green thumb in the garden, but you will never again, ‘not on God’s green earth’, get me to be ‘lime in Limon’.”

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