Sunday, 24 November 2013


ME, IN THE PROCESS OF RETURNING TO MY NATURAL COLOUR, which I hated just one year ago. And doing it myself, in my bathroom. This should end well.

And so it begins. The first mistake in what I am confidently predicting will be a string of mistakes springing from my uncontrollable need to be a cheapskate. I'm currently in the midst of a nervous breakdown thanks to what you're looking at up there, but basically, what happened was that after being publicly shamed by my granddaughter, I decided it was time to do something about my brindled blonde hair.

My mind then went into whirling dervish mode, minus the desired end result of enlightenment, during which I spun from one colour idea to another, whizzing faster, faster, ever faster in my descent into madness. On occasions such as this, I find not even liquor helps. Although maybe I'm just not drinking enough of it. Hold on a sec *turns away from monitor, pulls vodka bag out of bra, squirts liberally* ... Where was I? Ah yes. Madness. So what happened was I couldn't make a decision. Should I go blonder? Should I go darker? Red? Brown? Purple with black stripes? Horses? Scrambled eggs? More vodka? GREAT IDEA!!!! *swills*

By Sunday, I'd had enough. I wrote all my options on a piece of paper, closed my eyes and jabbed at it with a swizzle stick. It landed on blonde, but screw that. Ever since Kim Kardashian went blonde, I get mistaken for her at least once a day and I'm tired of it. So I tried again and this time it landed on "go back to your natural colour." I didn't want to do that either, but in the absence of any better ideas, I went to the beauty supply outlet, grabbed the first colour that looked like mine and went home and did it myself.

Two hours later ... well, I can't quite bear to share that photo with you yet. But I shan't mince words: it looks like cack. There are no grey roots showing and the blonde is gone, but still. Cack. 
So in the weeks ahead, I will have to go to a hairdresser and overpay have it fixed and hate that too and wear wigs in various shades until I find the one I should have gone with and then overpay to finally get it done right. I hope you people are at least getting a good laugh out of it all because frankly, that will be the only thing that keeps me from dousing my head in Javex and shaving half of it bald in a manner once known as "mental patient" but now more commonly known as "Miley Cyrus." 
Bear with me, people. You're in for some scary posts. And maybe even some twerking.

EDITOR'S NOTE: *walks into room, emits bloodcurdling shriek* I'm terribly sorry, master. What I meant to say was, "Well don't you look lovely!" *gags*
MY NOTE: That does it. We're just going to have to rename this blog "Hairified."