Metamorphed Shakespeare

I bet that if Hamlet had been a middle aged woman, her monologue would have started off with:

     "To dye or not to dye that is the question,
      whether tis nobler in the hearts of women
      to accept streaks of gray with contentious sighs
      or take to the store and from a rainbow pick.
      To dye, to not--No more--a castigated heartache,
      a thousand stares, perchance to envy those young and supple
      eliminate the threat, dye and sleep soundly."

I've dyed my hair for years, and have tried every conceivable shade and type--permanent and non-permanent.  It used to be simple; there was always the basic Nice-n-Easy browns, reds, and blondes. But these days, when facing the wall of color not only do you lose count of the different shades, you break into a sweat and wonder if your hairs on the menu.  Worse, flamboyant is now the "New You". 

The simple dark, medium, and light categories are now Mahogany, Misty Mocha, Chestnut, Brazenly Brunette, Caramel, Strawberry, Sangria, Raspberry Red, Ginger, Fox Red, Copper Red, Irish Red, Wheat, Buttered Toast, Honey, Chardonnay, Champagne, and even  Butterscotch.  Even the color swatch on the top of the box isn't much help.  About 8 weeks ago, I did my hair with Raspberry Red  hoping for a pink red tint. It was a non-permanent color, but 8 minutes into the dying process, I had a bad feeling.  I jumped into the shower and rinsed my hair.  Peering in the mirror, I shrieked.   "Crap, crap, crap!"  Four shampoos later, I wasn't a carrot top anymore- more like "Whore of Babylon Red."  Oh well,  there was nothing else I could do, so I shut up, dried my hair, smiled and swiped my lips with a new shade of red.  Only 24 more shampoos to go.