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