This last 24 hours was a monumental bad hair day! I go in to my usual place for a retouch, and somehow, sitting down in the chair and looking into the mirror unleashes my impulse to reconnect with my identity as a redhead. For a woman of a certain age, like me, it's easier to be blonde, but no matter how light my hair gets, I still believe I'm a redhead -- even when I'm looking in the mirror. It has deep personal meaning!
Here's my original hair color, photographed long ago.
(Let that chair tell the story of how long ago it was.)
So, suddenly, I'm all let's make it red! But for elaborate chemical reasons that aren't worth explaining, the attempt at red came out the horrid color an old penny. It was shockingly homely, plain, drab, dowdy, frumpy... aarrggghhh! I can't begin to tell you. It was a nightmare.
The hairdresser went into emergency mode. It would have been insanely embarrassing to show up at work like that. The restoration effort had numerous stages and took three more hours.
At work, no one seemed to notice. I guess the recovery effort was a success. In the end, I think it was an improvement over what it was when I sat down in the chair, but in the middle, it was horrifying, my friends. I'm glad you didn't get a chance to see me like that.