I Love Lucy
"Lucy, you've got some s'plainin to do! My shirts haven't been ironed n a week and the house is a mess," Ricky said as he stomped around the living room.
"I'm sick of ironing - here, do it yourself, Lucy said as she shoved the iron into Ricky's hands and dragged out the ironing board. And the vacuum cleaner is in the closet."
"Hay carumba!" he exclaimed as he threw up his hands in frustration.
Poor Lucy Ricardo she was 55 year old and tired of catering to her singing conga playing man. No more Cuban cooking, smelly cigars or ironing tropical shirts for her. She wasn't getting any younger. Her signature red hair needed constant color and Ricky made her "s'plain" why she needed endless trips to the beauty shop.
"I love my red hair. I can't go gray." she cried to herself. Then it struck her, there must be a lot of middle aged red heads in the same sinking ship. If she could concoct her own formula and bottle it she was sure it would sell. Lucy spent endless hours mixing peroxide and color. Her hands were bright red and cracked from dye but she was undeterred and determined. If Clairol could do it she could. Lucy's hair was 10 different shades of red before coming up with the perfect mixture.
"I've done it!" she declared admiring the shiny resonating red in the mirror. She poured the magic formula into cute little bottles and went beauty shop to beauty shop selling her product. Lucy was no marketing dummy; she undercut all her competition to get started. Orders poured in and she could no longer work out of her kitchen. She rented a factory and started production.
"Ricardo Red" was on every head from Madison Avenue to Rodeo Drive. Our girl didn't stop at hair color. She expanded her "red" empire to include lipstick and nail polish. She was crowned the "Queen of Color." Ironing and vacuuming were in the past as she was rolling in cash.
She never again heard the words, "Lucy you got some s'plainin' to do."