I woke up at approximately 3:00 a.m. Monday morning with the unshakable desire to dye my hair. I knew that was a desire not to be realized at that hour and went back to sleep. I continued to think about it all day, so I called my hair guy to see if I could get an appointment. They offered me the next afternoon but I was scheduled to work, so I got the next best thing: Friday morning.
Shortly after hanging up, I realized I couldn’t wait until Friday morning. I made some readjustments in my schedule, called back, and made my hair appointment for this afternoon at 3:30 p.m.
So … now I have dark hair! So excited; I haven’t had dark hair since I dyed it from a box in college. (This, by the way, looks loads better. It was definitely worth the extra cash to have a professional do it.)
The funniest thing about the entire experience was my hair guy using hair swatches to determine the color of my natural hair — and he determined I was a “dark blonde.” I laughed out loud. I have never considered myself a blonde. I own a t-shirt that says “Brunettes Have More Fun” that I wear on a semi-regular basis. And here he was telling me I was a blonde. Pshaw.
Well … I’m definitely not a blonde anymore!