Where's my foam?

*Disclaimer: This is a review of a product that I did not receive for free. I didn't even have a coupon. Sad. I'm not getting any reimbursement for my review of this product. I would like to be reimbursed, though.*

I always say that women's love of new cosmetics is proof of their eternal optimism. "This hair product will finally make my hair do what I want." "This mascara will give me big, beautiful Tyra eyes." "This concealer will keep me from looking like a racoon who lost a heavyweight title bout." And so on. We want to believe, even after we have bought a cartload of crappy stuff.

I bought the Samy Fat Foam hair color, because it came in a cool package and it foams! Foaming hair color! It's like cold fusion! New and exciting! Mess free! Easy to apply!

Okay. . . here is my story.

So, I opened up the box, and there's a big plastic shaker, a little twin packet of shampoo and conditioner, two bottles of stuff that you mix together, and a pair of gloves. Really nice gloves, all folded neatly into a plastic Ziploc bag. Two thoughts: "Am I making salad dressing or a cocktail here?" and "Wow, this is a lot of packaging. There goes my carbon footprint."

I read the directions. Put on the gloves. Mix Bottle A Liquid with Bottle B Powder like a mad scientist in the plastic shaker. Put the lid on and shakey shake it for thirty seconds. I counted, one Mississippi, two Sugar Plum Fairy, all the way up to 45 Mississippi, just to be sure I shook long enough.

I took the lid off the shakie thingie. Not foamy, no. More like. . . spit bubbles. Maybe this is as foamy as it's supposed to get?

I began to apply it with my hands to my head. Kind of like applying. . . chilli to your head. Thick chilli. Or possibly tapioca pudding. Not foam, but runny frothy goo. Said goo proceeded to run down my forehead, in my ears, across my cheek, down my neck to my back and right bosom, down my arms, and to splatter onto the bathroom wall and floor.

I used black hair dye, by the way. Remember the BP oil spill footage? Yeah, it kinda looked like that, and I was the pelican that got caught in the goop. Not to make light of the BP oil spill. I almost called FEMA for help.

So, I let it set for the recommended thirty minutes, while it dripped all down my torso, and oozed down my forehead with permanent blackness.

The good news? The dye isn't stinky at all. The color took really well and covered my roots perfectly. The color is also rich and dark and lovely. I thought it left my hair a little dry, but I can condition the heck out of it and make it happy again. Not with that little puck of conditioner they gave me in a foil packet, though.

The bad news? The color took really well and covered much of my skin perfectly. Think Eddie Munster with blob-shaped random grayish neck, back, arm and boob tattoos. It also took really well on my bathroom tile.

Final results? Never, ever again. Maybe if it had foamed like it does in the picture up there, all would have gone well. Not what happened in my trial run. And by run I mean, run all over the dang place.