I've been coloring my hair blonde for roughly 17 years. Started right after college. Most of the people I see on a regular basis (including my husband and, obviously, my children) have only known me as a blonde. I mean, everyone probably knew upon any sort of close examination that I wasn't actually blonde. But, no one ever saw me with truly dark hair.
I've been thinking about going closer to my natural color for a while. Grey hair has come creeping in and I'm sick of having to go to the salon every five weeks to spend too much money on too-blonde coloring. And, as I've mentioned in an earlier post my hair always looks pretty much the same two days later anyway.
Well, yesterday, I bit the bullet. Sort of. Instead of going au natural blah-ish brown, I went with a sort of brownish-reddish color that I'm totally into. I think it works. But, still, for the last twenty-four or so hours, when I walk by a mirror I can't believe I've actually done it. It's definitely not anything like it used to be. Who is that woman?
And, like my tattoo experience, Ross had absolutely no idea I was doing it. I hadn't even mentioned I was considering it. He must think I'm going through some bizarre form of almost-turning-forty mid-life crisis.
Hmmm. Maybe I am.
Whatever. It was cheaper than a sports car.
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