I Killed My Hair.

From the time I was, oh...14 I think, until I was 18, I dyed my hair. At first it was a slight lightening until, finally, you should see my senior photo! If it weren't packed away in a storage unit I would show it to you. It doesn't require much imagination though. Just picture a short, short pixie in bleach-white blond. Oddly enough, in another senior picture it was red. That was my favorite.

But, when I turned 18, went to college, and met the love of my life, I began a journey of enjoying and appreciating the way God made me. This meant I stopped altering my appearance, so no more hair dye. (I did, however, grow up in the South, so I did NOT stop wearing make up. I have my limits.)

For some reason, I felt the best way to celebrate ten years of God given, genuine brown would be dying it blond! Genius. I did actually give it some thought. I thought, It's not that big of a deal to me anymore. I don't care so much whether my hair is blond or brown or red--but I don't think I could pull off black. And I have actually stopped wearing make up everyday. I've transcended, right? So I figured, what the heck. I went to Target, picked out the darkest blond they had, and applied.

It was a shock. When I came out of the bathroom Gizmo stopped dead in his tracks and just looked at me. He didn't say anything; he just looked at me funny for a day or so. I don't mind it so much now, but the problem is not the look. It's the feel. Before this carefree experiment my hair was healthy, smooth, bouncy, shiny, obedient. I had that hair. Now I think my hair is actually offended. It is dead as a doornail. (Yes, I know hair is never literally alive. Moving on...) No more shine, no more bounce, and it's coarse and DISobedient. I was apparently so unappreciative that it is giving me...the shaft. (sorry, couldn't help it.) It's as if it is saying, "I gave you my best for ten years and it wasn't good enough for you? Well I'll be damned if I'm going to pretend to be a natural blond. You're on your own, chic!"

So here I am. I had made peace with having plain ol' brown hair. And now I get to make peace with having dry, damaged hair. If it's not one thing it's another.