Friday, March 5, 2010

It's Only Hair....and THAT'S only Bullshit...

There are some things you just don't mess with; you don't go on American Idol and perform a Heart song, for example. You don't put nitrous in the Batmobile. And, I learned, you DO NOT DO BOLD BLONDE HIGHLIGHTS in Sam's hair.

I know a picture is worth a thousand words and blahblahblahblah but I tried, and I can't really capture that quality that's made me shriek each time I've caught a glimpse of myself over the last 14 hours. I think the quality is pure, pure horror.

I don't know what it is either about my stylist's salon, but those lights make me hallucinate. I didn't think it was that light. Until I got home. Until I saw myself in my bathroom mirror and stared in stark terror at the freak show on my head.

Let me be very very clear. My stylist is excellent. My judgment is NOT. I thought I knew how it would look and we saw a picture and thought it would work with my coloring, etc etc. It does not work. At all. With any part of me.

I couldn't sleep last night. The Man had to restrain me from jumping in the car at 10:30 and driving to WalMart and Bringing the Brown Back with my own mad hair dying skills.

The Man: "Just call her, she'll fix it."
Me: "What if she WON'T?"
The Man: "That'd be like getting food with a dead mouse on it at a restaurant. She'll fix it."

Oh he's a special one, The Man is. But yes, yes it's the hair equivalent of finding a rodent in your entree. It's bad. BAD BAD BAD. Since most of you readers are some nice, thoughtful and kind people (but where is my money and that box of chocolates you promised?) I don't even want to FORCE you to try and say "oh, it'll be okay" because it WILL NOT be okay until the Brown has returned.

My kids, you ask? (Not that you did)

Princess: "It's great!"
Casanova (formerly known as The Destroyer): "I hate it."
The Man: hysterical laughter at hearing the kids.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to decorate a paper sack for my head, and to blow up my stylist's phone. If she can't help me, by God, WalMart aisle six CAN.

Comments, questions, send me your stylist!

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