About a year ago I decided to grow my hair out. For some, this would be no big deal, but for those of us who haven’t seen their real hair color in twenty-three years, it was a significant risk. I was a bit apprehensive at what might surface under the prolonged years of L’Oreal abuse.
Was I blonde, grey or brown? I had no clue.
But as the roots came in, it wasn’t as atrocious as the images I conjured in my head. Turns out I have medium to drab blonde hair and as of yet, the grey fairy has not appeared.
I thought I’d try out this new me for a while –the real me and see if I liked her.
People tell me it looks more natural, maybe because it’s the color of dirt?
But “natural” isn’t necessarily a compliment. “What a lovely color” was just as nice. I think as one ages, natural might be overrated.
I’ve noticed lately I’ve been struggling with blonde envy. I drool over light blonde hair and wish mine was just a little more flaxen.
But because I am wretchedly poor right now thanks to private pre-school, high school and a husband finishing seminary, I couldn’t justify a trip to the hairstylist.
And so I forgot the cardinal rule of hair care. If you screw up your locks, you will pay one way or the other.
But I’m a natural blonde, (remember?) so I embraced my inner ditz and proceeded to make the dumbest move possible. I picked up a highlighting kit at Wal-Mart for $6.00. It looked simple enough. Paint a few little beach blond stripes through my hair and brighten it up a bit.
Unfortunately, my artistic brain begins and ends in the writing realm, although I do have some qualms with Revlon…. (a)They need to include paint by numbers diagram and (b) there should have been an idiot test.
I really tried to get it right but the gobs of blue goo I accidentally dropped on my head left a little surprise for me.
How bad could it be you ask?
(Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I am tall)
On top of looking like cheetah, I also have large gum-ball spots of white hair in the middle of my darker blonde head.
I tried to part my hair about fifty different ways to cover the spots, but to no avail.
It looks AWFUL!
I‘d cry, but every time I glance in the mirror I start laughing at the quandary I’ve gotten myself into.
My vanity is like a dysfunctional friend I’ve (mostly) set firm boundaries with, until in a moment of weakness, I crack open the door and invite back in to torment me.
It might be time for professional intervention, but In the meantime, I will answer to Spot or Hound’s-tooth.
Have you ever screwed up your hair?
Photo Credit: http://nopsa.hiit.fi/pmg/viewer/photo.php?id=755210
