Oh a whim, as often this happens with me, I bought bleach and a light toner yesterday. I knew I wanted to do something different with my hair and was leaning towards going darker, actually, because the reddish highlights I’ve gotten from the sun irritates me. When my hair had a little bit of red in it, every pimple and blemish on my face appears to be pulsating.
So we’re walking through Target to get cat litter and poop bags for the dogs when I ask Charlie what color he thinks I should use. I figure he’s going to say “brownish?” as he usually does. Instead he says “A dark blonde?” And, because it’s summer and I, like most women, think you’re supposed to be darker in the winter and vice versa, I go along with it. I add that if my hair is completely fried afterwards, he has to take me to a decent salon and pay for a “real” style upon getting all the dead shit cut off.
I stood in the bathroom this morning with the bleach and plastic gloves for about fifteen minutes, going back and forth between maybe just doing some highlights or just doing it all or maybe just a few pieces in the front. I started to do the front and, as usual, I got it on some other parts of my hair and then I was just like f–k it and started slopping it on.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, what shape my poor, poor damaged hair is going to be but I do know, if I want to continue growing out my hair, this was a bad choice. Oh, well. I’m bored. And when I’m bored I dye my hair.