I can barely keep my eyes open, but I'm still going to keep typing, because well, I am awesome. And incredibly stupid.
Hello again! Thanks for clicking on that link, and thanks for reading this and uh, I'm going to start right now...
Ever since I turned 18 I've had this longing to do something wacky and different, and what better than to get blue highlights for my hair? So, today after days of salon-hopping and appointment-making and making frantic calls that always ended with me saying 'Yes, yes, blue. No, not blonde. Blue. Yes,' I walked into the salon from (ANOTHER) exam and slumped on the seat.
Long story short, my hair was vigorously shampooed, conditioned, strands of hair to be streaked singled out, bleached and dyed, during which time my mother, bless her, managed to have two fairly satisfying naps and I informed all my girlfriends about the wonderful new transformation I was to undergo, and sneakily observed all the different customers trickling in, all patting their hair and asking the hairdresser what will 'suit' them the most.
At one point, this incredibly adorable four-year-old boy walked in with his nanny and he looked absolutely terrified when he was made to sit down on The Chair. And what followed took me back to the days when my father would haul my brother and me to the local 'men's saloon' every other Sunday to give us the classiest haircut possible: The Bowl. And because of that and my seeming lack of secondary sexual characters, I'd more than once been called a guy, to the point a bus conductor yelled out 'Hey bro, look out!' as the bus skirted past me. Thanks a lot, dad. Thanks a lot.
Anyway, as my cheerful little Nepalese hairdresser pulled away the white towel with a flourish, there was a definite feeling of anticlimax. WHERE IN THE BLUE HECK WAS THE BLUE?
So it transpired, my hair was so effing black, the blue was barely visible. Unless of course, you viewed specific portions of my hair under some zillion-watt stadium lights. She was so disappointed, she took 50% off the colouring cost and promised to have the coolest red colour ready when the bleached hair began to show. At the end it was my mom who was consoling her that it was alright, and I didn't mind, and I'd definitely come back. I have to admit, I was feeling the blues too. Okay sorry, bad pun.
I really wish I had some cool pictures to put up, but noone wants to see stupid black hair, do they?
Thanks for reading, again! More next time, you lovely people.
Hello again! Thanks for clicking on that link, and thanks for reading this and uh, I'm going to start right now...
Ever since I turned 18 I've had this longing to do something wacky and different, and what better than to get blue highlights for my hair? So, today after days of salon-hopping and appointment-making and making frantic calls that always ended with me saying 'Yes, yes, blue. No, not blonde. Blue. Yes,' I walked into the salon from (ANOTHER) exam and slumped on the seat.
Long story short, my hair was vigorously shampooed, conditioned, strands of hair to be streaked singled out, bleached and dyed, during which time my mother, bless her, managed to have two fairly satisfying naps and I informed all my girlfriends about the wonderful new transformation I was to undergo, and sneakily observed all the different customers trickling in, all patting their hair and asking the hairdresser what will 'suit' them the most.
At one point, this incredibly adorable four-year-old boy walked in with his nanny and he looked absolutely terrified when he was made to sit down on The Chair. And what followed took me back to the days when my father would haul my brother and me to the local 'men's saloon' every other Sunday to give us the classiest haircut possible: The Bowl. And because of that and my seeming lack of secondary sexual characters, I'd more than once been called a guy, to the point a bus conductor yelled out 'Hey bro, look out!' as the bus skirted past me. Thanks a lot, dad. Thanks a lot.
Anyway, as my cheerful little Nepalese hairdresser pulled away the white towel with a flourish, there was a definite feeling of anticlimax. WHERE IN THE BLUE HECK WAS THE BLUE?
So it transpired, my hair was so effing black, the blue was barely visible. Unless of course, you viewed specific portions of my hair under some zillion-watt stadium lights. She was so disappointed, she took 50% off the colouring cost and promised to have the coolest red colour ready when the bleached hair began to show. At the end it was my mom who was consoling her that it was alright, and I didn't mind, and I'd definitely come back. I have to admit, I was feeling the blues too. Okay sorry, bad pun.
I really wish I had some cool pictures to put up, but noone wants to see stupid black hair, do they?
This is exactly what my hair... DOESN'T look like.
Thanks for reading, again! More next time, you lovely people.
No comments:
Post a Comment