1.31.2006

SPT Personal History

Since I can remember I've always wanted red hair like my sister.
The first time I tried highlights, just a few lovely reddish streaks I thought, 'they will be just the thing'. They were fuscia and grotesque and took many tries at bleaching to disappear.
The second try was a mere two days before leaving on vacation to Mexico to meet up with two of my bestest friends and their little girl. I was going for a beautiful red reminiscent of Irish Setters, glorious and rich, shining with possibilities. It was burgundy and hideous, and I was sick knowing I had actually paid for the atrocity committed on my hair. I tried to strip the color, it took three boxes of light ash blond to allow me to be able to go into a public place without people staring. My scalp was raw and oozing from the dye/bleach mistreatment and my hair felt like it was melting when wet and straw-like when dry.
So I cut it. In the Hotel sink. With mustache scissors. SHORT. It was awful.
After two days of my own dreadfully inadequate haircut, we went to a lovely woman with a buzzer who evened out my hair. And then it was even shorter; think military cut. I had that wonderful little boy haircut feeling, you know when you take your hand and ruffle the little short hairs all over their head? I loved it. People still stared. Yet it was better to me. I was so much happier bald than with the terrible disappointment of expectations unrealized. The wonderous enchantment of hair color is the mirage you conjure up, the knowledge that a little bottle of hair color is all it takes to be new and improve, exciting and different.
Isn't that what we all are looking for?

1 Comments:

Blogger kate said...

well it was cheaper than finding out that lesson with plastic surgery! And less painful! lol... I enjoyed your blog! ty =]

1/31/2006 10:23 AM  

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