Dear Miss “Nice’n Easy” Clairol:

I am writing to inform you that your product, Nice’n Easy #120A, does not create the “natural dark golden brown” hair color pictured on the box.

I spent about 30 minutes in the hair-color aisle, holding up one box after another to the side of my head and checking out my reflection in the sunglasses display. I’ve used hair color before — my gray is past its debut and putting in a regular appearance — but this was my first time using your product. With a description like “natural dark golden brown,” how big was the risk?

The first sign of trouble was the eerie resemblance to Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho” shower scene as I rinsed the dye out of my hair. Never before have I seen so much color going down the drain, made worse by the feeling I’d just murdered Barney. My God, the purple! The purple!

When I stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror, my heart nearly seized. I told myself, “It’s still wet. It always looks darker when it’s wet, and it’s not really that black...” As my hair dried and became darker still, my eyebrows completely vanished and my eyes became two dull, dime-sized buttons. And when did these jowly lines appear next to—what the hell!—age spots.

Now I have never been a “hair-and-nails” kind of woman. I’m grateful to have straight teeth, decent skin, and facial features where they belong. I’m more of a wash-n-go girl who ditches her brassiere whenever possible. Mirrors don’t hold much fascination for me but for the past three days, every time I catch a glimpse of myself, I don’t recognize this strange woman wearing my clothes as she rushes out the door for work.

I tutor K-8 children at one of those big, noisy group-education places, so you know my sensitive side was beaten out of me long ago. Some kids are easily startled, however. It was as though they couldn’t reconcile the picture with the sound on a television: Miss Tisa seemed the same but something was seriously off. The older kids took one look at me and asked, at 372 decibels, “Miss Tisa, did you DYE your HAIR BLACK?!” I’m sad to say, these older children received uncommonly poor scores on their quizzes that day.

The last time my hair was this dark, I had a poster of David Cassidy above my bed. What did I think I’d be doing when I was 48 years old? Not learning anatomy and algebra, trying to qualify for radiography school while negotiating mortgage payments and health care benefits. When I was a recent college grad (the first time around), I imagined myself living a comfortable life with dinners at hip restaurants, nice clothes, reading The New Yorker book reviews in a big back yard filled with towering elm trees. Maybe helping the downtrodden or some such. I’m sure punching a clock or worrying about retirement never entered my mind.

Well, reality is a touchy topic for a woman who keeps trying to scrub off her age spots. At the moment, I look like one of those “older” women who dyes her hair too dark and carefully draws on some eyebrows before pulling up her support hose. The one who keeps a tissue shoved up the sleeve of her sweater, just in case.

With the exception of my stupid hair, what else would I change at age 48? What do I wish I’d done differently? Spent less money on crap from Target, that’s for sure. Flossed more and slept more, maybe said yes to more adventure, but I’m actually OK with how my life’s turned out so far. Even the hard parts — divorce, death, and related mayhem — were worthwhile events. Dyeing my hair back to the color I has as a teenager has a way of making this girl take stock of her blessings.

Miss Clairol, I’m not looking for compensation or even sympathy. It’s just that the promise of Nice’n Easy #120A falls short; instead of looking younger, I just look prematurely senile. But I’m not worried; it’ll grow out soon enough and hey, my hair isn’t gray — those are my highlights.